The Chief Cochise
by HyperHenry
Summary: Commander Chakotay suddenly finds himself unemployed when he and Voyager returns to Earth; but an unexpected job offer changes his life completely.
1. The Chief Cochise, chapter 1

The Chief Cochise 1

Author: HyperHenry 

Disclaimers: The butts of Mel and her crew, including the ship, the _Chief Cochise_, are **my** property. Everything else belongs to the almighty and all-powerful Paramount.

Rating: Sorry! Still NC-17. Not due to sex, though. The language and violence might offend or shock members of the younger society. So beat it, kiddies, and go play with a computer with a Net-Nanny.

Summary: Chakotay on his own. A little thought experiment: what if Chaks just cut all the lines to his past with Voyager and Janeway after they got back to the Alpha Quadrant? What would his life be like? Where would he be and what would he be doing? Well, somebody has given that question some thought and approaches the commander with a proposal. And a new life awaits Janeway's ex- first officer.

Author's notes: WARNING! WARNING! All hard core J/C's be warned. This is NOT J and C. This is merely C and his life after J. This whole thing was opted by my irritation that the writers of the Star Trek universe keep making simple and basic mistakes in the description and narration of military procedures and common sense. Yours truly once spent six years in the Danish Homeguard where I gained the experience from which I draw my information and knowledge. I am, of course, no expert seal or anything like that. However, I did manage to obtain a solid basic knowledge of warfare, weapons and military tactics.  
An ear piece is described in the story as being a wireless device which is positioned in the ear and devoid of any white noise, basically functioning through sound waves in the jaw bone. This device is not science fiction. It exists today, is used by paramedics and the Civil Defence and was indeed invented by a Dane.  
Linguistic cock-ups are a given for a Danish writer who's not writing in her mother's tongue. Please forgive me. I _am_ learning, however.  
Actually, I'm far better with drawings.  Go to my Story Illustrations page, if you wish to access some of the portraits for this story.

Acknowledgements: I owe my creative longings to my wonderful mother, who left this world much too soon. I know you are forever with me, Mom, resting in the bossom of angels. _Du blev født på en stjerne!_  
Have you noticed how film makers can't seem to create a strong action woman without her being a bitch, a frosty ice maiden or a stiff nun? This story is also an attempt to show readers that female military leaders can be and are quite emotionally functional and relaxed. Often they have a profound insight in human nature, a distinct advantage that constantly helps them pick the right soldiers for the right job. Women leaders are by no means 'softies' or 'emotionally unstable'; often they are flexible, imaginative and incredibly tough - and constant as the Northern Star. I know. One of them was my company commander.  
Commander Maj-britt Schmidt: this one's for you! :)  
  
  


**The Chief Cochise**  
  


**_Part 1_**

  
  
  


The wind was brisk and cool and he welcomed it on his somewhat hot, flushed face. Above him in the sky birds were obviously discussing something of intense importance for their voices rang loud and carried high as if they wanted to be certain that the gods were listening.

Perhaps they were. Commander Chakotay too found himself interested in what they had to say.

_Listen to the birds, Chakotay, they have something to tell you._

So strange that it had taken so long to realise the wisdom of his father's words.

And now. His voice was stilled, but his words still lived on in his son's mind.

Finally.

Chakotay lowered his head before the dizziness of looking upwards overwhelmed him. Down below there was plenty to arouse his curiosity as it was. The rustle in the fallen leaves and the creaks and little telltale sounds from the ground bore evidence to a rich animal life as important and communicative as the life he had seen and heard above him.

The commander sighed heavily, filled his lungs with the fresh, sharp autumn air, purging his inner self and let the clean air leave his lungs with all his anxiety and worries.

He was starting a new life.

A new life without Voyager, Kathryn, the Maquis ....... and strict Starfleet regulations.

The Native American looked down again.

How come he didn't remember how beautiful Earth was. Yet he was standing on it this very minute, stepping on it, breathing the air, hearing the sounds, seeing the life. Life.

Chakotay was alive and he had never felt so happy in his entire life before.

He noticed his shoes. Civilian shoes. He had exactly 14 days before he would go into active duty again. Fourteen days to make amends with the rest of the Maquis crew, fourteen days to explain why he had accepted the assignment he had been offered........

............ B'Elanna was looking at him in deep annoyance. Her perky chin was up, her arms crossed and her eyes flashing. Chakotay knew all these signs so very well. B'Elanna was not happy and she was going to let him know. She looked nice in her civvies, he decided. And she looked marvellous for a woman who had just given birth to a child. Her hips were still broad, her belly still floppy and double chin not completely vanished yet. Yet she looked radiant.

"I just don't understand you, Chakotay - we are home. Starfleet has given us free leave. We have been offered good Starfleet officer positions .... and you intend to sneak away on some odd covert assignment when you could be together with the rest of us?"

"I'm not sneaking away, and it's not covert ..."

"It's Kathryn, isn't it?"

"It's ...." Chakotay stopped and realised to his immense surprise ... that it wasn't.

It wasn't because of Kathryn Janeway, former Captain of Voyager, that he now preferred being seconded to another section of Starfleet. He had definitely loved her once, and he still did in some odd melancholy way. But he had put her behind her as a prospective future lover. She had rejected him again and again, and slowly but steadily, the love and physical attraction he had felt for her had faded out.

It startled him somewhat to realise it so abruptly. He turned a slightly confused face towards his old friend, who was standing in front of him, trying to wake him from his reverie.

"No, it isn't!" he said, still sounding like a man, who was dreaming.

B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. His denial didn't sound overtly convincing, but for some intuitive reason, she believed him.

"Then ... what?" she asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

Now Chakotay was smiling broadly and in a relaxed manner.

"It was a fascinating offer, B'El, and I wished you could go with me - it's right up your alley..."

"You know I can't leave my husband and the baby." She pointed out reproachfully.

The big man nodded.

"Of course not. I said 'I WISHED' ... got it?"

She smiled at him, matching his relaxed mood.

"Of course. And I understand ... sort of. I wish you could tell me more about it - and I wish you all the good luck in the world."

He dimpled her full power.

"I'll stay in touch. We'll meet again and exchange 'fleet stories, right?"

"Right!" she answered and went into his open arms willingly. Her embrace almost hurt his ribs as she hugged him and murmured into his chest:

"Take care of yourself, old man."

*

The two weeks disappeared much faster than he had anticipated. He only got one chance of seeing Janeway again, and she seemed her own self, reserved but polite, wishing him all the best in the world and good luck with his new assignment. He worked her over with his dimples, told her how much he had enjoyed working with her despite their differences, thank her cordially for her warm advocate speech in the Maquis' favour, kissed her shortly and fondly on the cheek and then left her Admiral's office.

He briefly wondered if he would ever see her again.

The rest of his shore leave was spent with old friends and ex-Maquis, who all regretted his untimely re-designation. Very few of them seemed to understand that he actually preferred it so.

And then the day came where the birds' singing and the leaves' rustling appeared to abate, winter was getting closer and so was his departure.

"....... so who is my commanding officer?" Commander Chakotay asked as he strode down the station corridor along with Commodore Welch.

He had arrived at space station 23 in sector 4 only two days before, and he was already being briefed about his new job. The bulky commodore at his side was his match in long steps and seemed equally eager to introduce the newcomer to his assigned ship and superior.

"You have probably never heard of her. She was quite a liability until we figured out where to put her."

"Her?"

The commodore grinned broadly.

"Yep! You seemed to get along fine with one notorious female captain, so we reckoned that you would feel just fine with another."

"That depends...." Chakotay said wearily.

"Of course, it does." The big man agreed unexpectedly, "Women are just as different as us men, eh?"

He winked at the Native American and elbowed him appreciatively. Chakotay felt a little stunned. This all felt very un-starfleet.

His musing was interrupted by something blue and speedy that suddenly flashed past them without noticing them.

"YO!" the commodore bellowed.

The blue shape turned. It was a young man, incredibly dirty, his face scratched and his uniform in shreds.

"If you're looking for the Cap, she's right behind me." The lad bellowed back - without saluting.

_What is this???_ Chakotay thought confused, _Have these people discarded protocol completely?_

He turned round to comment on it to the commodore, but shut his mouth again.

Before him stood a tall, slim woman of 40 odd with a mass of short dark hair, that surrounded a handsome if somewhat ordinary face, eyes shining like amber, honey coloured skin. She was wearing a dark blue and grey uniform, which couldn't hide her well trained muscle tone or the state she was in.

The uniform looked like hell.

So did she.

Obviously she just came from an away mission.

She wasn't really stopping either, she nodded firmly but absentmindedly to them both and then stormed on down the corridor.

The commodore set his impressive body mass in motion and hurried after her with Chakotay in tow.

"Mel. MEL!"

She didn't slow down, but she did begin to talk. Her voice was not husky like Kathryn's, Chakotay thought, but it was full and mature.

"Sir, I'm in a hurry here - you either wait or talk to me in my shower." She said, showing absolutely no respect for her superior. The ex-Maquis now expected the commodore to dress her seriously down, but instead he said grinningly.

"I have no problem with that, Mel - but perhaps Commander Chakotay has."

That finally made her stop. She directed those oddly coloured eyes at him and her voice was tinged with curiosity.

"My new first?"

"The very same." The commodore looked positively proud that he had made the torpedo stop.

She offered him her unbelievably dirty hand.

"Welcome to the shack!" she grinned, teeth even and flashing. With those amber eyes and that smile she might easily be a wolf, the Native American decided.

Then the torpedo began moving again, without waiting for an answer.

"Meet me in the canteen in 20 minutes, Commander - we have much to discuss."

And she was gone.

"Well, she's kinda no-nonsense." Commodore Welch explained, "But I'm sure you two will get along just famously." and then he patted Chakotay on the back with the impact of a bear's paw. Janeway's ex-first officer felt inclined to rub his eyes; for a second there he thought he saw a big bear instead of the commodore, just as he had seen a wolf instead of his new CO. Not that the comparison wasn't valid. The commodore had the height and volume of a grizzly and his thick, silverish beard only added to that illusion. His eyes, however, did not contain the peril of a grizzly at all. They sparkled humorously and amicably at you with their clear water blue irises.

"Sir," Chakotay tried, "about this ... loose... protocol approach I witness here."

"You'll get used to it." the bear assured him while they slowly proceeded down the corridor, "I reckon it is very Maquis, but I also reckon that you held your men more firmly at bay, being a product of Starfleet Academy - eh?"

The blue eyes twinkled intelligently at the former Maquis, who mutely nodded, wondering how the hell this man was able to see through people he had only just met a day before.

The bear paw continued to pat his back vigorously and mercilessly.

"Let's get you some info on your CO before you meet her for real. And let's do it quickly. She's not the one to look lightly on delays for starters."

*

When Captain Melanie D. Dayton (by some called "D-Day") stepped out of her shower, wrapped in a huge mauve blanket, she would have signed any affidavit that stated that she had just been born, coming out of the shower head together with those blessed droplets of silver that the station plumbing provided so readily and efficiently.

Seven days of sweat, dirt, dust, vomit, blood, shit and urine literally off her back in just a few minutes.

_I love modern commodities_, she thought dreamily, _clean in an instant - no soaking_. Some people, she knew, could lie in a bathtub for hours. In Melanie's mind that was simply waste of quality time.

The tall dark-haired woman quickly rubbed her honey coloured skin with the blanket and then threw it into a far corner. She then shook her thick, rough hair free of the last remains of silver drops and headed for the wardrobe.

Melanie Dayton didn't need to check her chronometer to know that she had exactly 8 minutes before she was due to meet her new XO in the canteen where she had summoned him herself. She was practically born with an inner watch.

She went through her sparse clothing in the closet with an appreciative and critical eye. She never took long to choose what to wear, yet she didn't choose without contemplating either. Since she was off duty she donned a dark gold suit, seamed with creme edges, that matched her amber eyes and honey skin perfectly. Yet it was not a suit that sent the wrong message; the neckline was demure and the folds loose. This was work, not flirting.

The captain of the interesting, mixed heritage rolled up her sleeves and thus revealed long scratches along her lower arm that had been left untreated.

_Might as well show him that we don't care about superficial scratches the way they do on regular starships,_ she mused, intent on relaying the right picture from the start.

She had had two marvellous first officers before this one and she was determined to make this a third. She was also determined to give the man a chance to bail out if he didn't like what he saw. Better now than later in the heat of combat, she thought, nodding to herself.

_Commander Chakotay_, she contemplated, sticking her feet into two hazel brown boots, that name had become quite famous, or so she'd understood. She and her team had only recently returned from a long mission that included 'no contact' with base, which meant 'no information from the outside world'. However, apparently this guy had been one of the Maquis that vanished together with Voyager seven years earlier only to perform one helluva spectacular return later. As it turned out, as much as Welch had had time to explain her, the Maquis leader had accepted the post as first officer for Captain Kathryn Janeway in their long struggle to reach home.

Without knowing more details of the circumstances, Melanie couldn't but admire a captain that so stubbornly had managed to get her crew home.

Such a good captain must have had a good first officer.

So Melanie wanted him.

Of course, she was aware of the one problem she had already identified: that Janeway no doubt was stiff on protocol. And that couldn't really be said of the _Chief Cochise_, her battered, but never yielding spaceship and its indefatigable crew.

Captain Dayton straightened, smoothed out some folds and raised her eerie wolf eyes to gaze at the door.

How would her new XO meet the team challenge? How would he fit in with the attitude and atmosphere of the company?

She wondered.

Commander Chakotay had showed up in the canteen ten minutes before the appointed time. In front of him lay a PADD that relayed all the information Commodore Welch had provided him on a certain captain.

Captain Melanie D. (what did the D. stand for?) Dayton had started her ... alternative Starfleet career by joining when she was 18 - just like everybody else. From the start she turned out to be smart and innovative - at times a little too innovative. When she graduated, she did so with one year of delay, having spent a year on Cerberos 5, dealing with a family crisis. Immediately after her graduation she was assigned to a space station where she ended up in open fight with the station's commodore who recommended that she be seconded to a starship to teach her some manners.

It was on route to this new assignment that her ship suddenly disappeared without a trace, crew and all.

Four years later, Dayton and two members of the ship's crew suddenly turned up on Theti 3, more dead than alive and completely changed (details about her four in-between years are classified).

For reasons also classified Dayton became transferred to FMOPS [Federation Military Operations] where she fit surprisingly well, worked her way up and eventually became promoted as captain of the ship, the _Chief Cochise_, that mainly handles more discreet operations requested by Federation members in full agreement with the United Federation of Planets treaty.

Captain Melanie D. Dayton had now been commanding the _Chief Cochise_ for ten years.

"Any supplemental questions?"

Chakotay's head jerked at the sudden voice that appeared so close to him. He looked up to find what his subconsciousness already knew: that his CO had arrived and was staring at him and his diligence with a big grin plastered on her face. She looked quite relaxed in a gold suit and one might have thought that she was simply there to enjoy a drink were it not for the PADD stuck under her arm.

Chakotay relaxed visibly.

"An interesting story - with some interesting holes."

She winked at him as she sat down on the offered chair.

"You said it. I guess we're a match in that direction ...... BAXTER!!!"

The last word was yelled to draw the attention of the bartender, a tall, skinny Altarian dude that looked as if nothing and no one could move him less than bothersome customers.

"Right?"

"The house's poison, strong Belzak coffee - and give him whatever he had before."

"I didn't have anything," Chakotay got in sideways, his tone bone-dry, "I never managed to get hold of the waiter."

"Figures - you have to have a mean voice, Commander - what's your preference?"

"A cup of herb tea, please?"

Dayton raised an eyebrow, but offered no comment. Baxter trotted off to execute the orders ... at some point with the captain's warning salute to tail his butt.

"Make sure we get it before the team has to leave in three days, Baxter - translation: MOVE IT!!!!"

Baxter moved his feet faster with an increased rate of exactly 0.00056 second.

"Is he always like this?" the ex-Maquis asked in pure wonder.

"Oh no! Usually he's a lot slower."

The joke was an old one, but it was delivered so deadpan and so unexpected that Commander Chakotay broke down with laughter as soon as he was done picking up his jaw from the floor.

The captain let him recover from his hiccups, smiled affably and then turned business like.

"Well, I have your file right here with me - and I DO have some questions."

"Shoot." Chakotay said, warm with laughter and completely relaxed.

And so she shot with the impressively accurate aim of a prime marksman, hitting one target after the other, bringing home all the bulls eyes. Dead-on questions about how he ended up by Janeway's side, what the blanks on some of the logs were about, details on their dispute on the 'Scorpion' mission, questions as to why the hell Janeway was allowed to run around on stray planets most of the time.

And Chakotay answered it all, more in surprise than in respect.

She then leaned back with a content sigh.

"Good!" she said, "I'm glad - I hate blank points between CO's - don't you?"

He had to admit that he did. Working in the blind with Janeway had been frustrating at best.

The tall woman leaned forward and slapped him heartily on his broad back.

"Of course, Rome wasn't built in one day. We will have to look each other over in the time to come - and you will have to familiarise yourself with my ... colourful crew as well. It won't be easy, Commander."

Chakotay tilted his head in a 'life sucks' gesture.

"Whoever promised us an easy life?"

She flashed her wolfy smile at him.

"I like you already, First," she said and then turned to give Baxter an overhaul on his tardiness. They had been waiting for 30 minutes.

When they rose and left, Dayton turned and delivered one last blow to the obnoxious bartender:

"You know, Baxter, one walks by actually putting one foot in front of the other - did you KNOW that?"

"Spirits," Chakotay whispered to her on their way out, "I hope your mess hall attendant is a little more attentive than that."

"That would be Rosie." Dayton informed him, "You'll meet her soon - she's your mother."

"My what?"

"You'll see."

When they split at the junction to go back to their respective quarters, Chakotay halted her with one last question:

"Oh - just one thing..."

"Yeah?"

"What would you preferred to be called?"

The reply was prompt.

"The crew call me _Cap_ when I'm in an ear's shot and _D-Day_ when I'm not. My firsts usually call me Cap on official duty and otherwise 'Mel'.

Chakotay nodded, stunned.

It had taken him two years to be allowed to call Janeway 'Kathryn'.

*

Mel had taken her 'poison' with her when she left the mess hall, and she was still carrying it in her hands when she entered Commodore Welch's officer.

Not for the first time was she struck by the man's intense personality and the way it was mirrored in his private belongings. On the standard Starfleet shelves lay odd random items that he had picked up here and there. Much of it was from Earth, mostly ethnic charms and decoration each with a story of its own, each with colour and warmth that seemed to radiate and offer the cold sterile design of the room the heart it needed. On the farther wall two tapestries with two eskimo drumming boys from Greenland were adorning the dull off-white surface, and on the nearer wall long necklaces of Native American beads were spread out to graciously pour out their colours and character.

Mel liked the commodore.

But she wasn't fooled by him.

As amiable and teddybear-like the big man could be, just as cold and hard could he behave in confrontation with crisis. He was a veritable chameleon.

Mel Dayton was almost his complete opposite. With her one got what one saw. That fact often shortened suddenly arisen problems dramatically. Prospective foes simply backed off before they came too far.

That's why she was good to have as front spear, Welch decided. Bombing fodder, as it was called in the old days with conventional weapons.

"So what do you think?" he started without preamble. She took a seat on her own initiative, the two of them being so old friends that she didn't have to wait for him to offer it. She then took time to sip her drink before answering him.

"Promising," came the verdict.

Mel Dayton never spoke out too soon. That was one of the things Welch liked about her. Yet today he felt eager to know more.

"How promising?"

She looked up from the rim of the glass in surprise.

"What? You want rating? You know I don't do that."

The big bear shrugged his massive shoulders. Such an interesting effect it had

"I'm just curious. Do you suppose he will fit in?"

The slim woman sighed and leaned back into the broad comfy chair. God, it felt good after that damn drill.

"It's really much too early to say, Bob. Despite his prior history and experience, I still have a feeling that he's in for a big surprise. Yet, I also sense that he has what it takes to eventually adapt."

The commodore smiled the smile of a satisfied bear who has just found the perfect hive with the sweetest honey.

"That's all I need to know, Mel - now the rest is up to you."

"Ain't it always?" she murmured and gulped down the rest of the drink.

*

The next day the entire crew of the _Chief Cochise_ met for a final evaluation of the drill they had just executed and for updating news, orders and new crew members, amongst others, of course, the ship's new first officer.

Storage Hall 3 had been cleared for their purpose only. As the _Chief Cochise_ was still undergoing extensive repairs, her crew still had to arrange their activities to take place at the station. It didn't matter much - except for the new first officer who still hadn't had a chance to see the ship up close.

Commander Chakotay stood at Captain Dayton's left side a bit back like he always had with Captain Janeway and let his eyes sweep over the assembled crew of his new ship.

'Colourful' the captain had said. 'Colourful' didn't begin to describe it.

The crew of the _Chief Cochise_ consisted of 8 Vulcans, 6 Andorians, 4 Betazoids, 15 Saurians, 34 Humans, 11 Bolians, 5 Klingons, 2 Hortas, 7 Deltans, 1 Cardassian?? (impossible), 12 Bajorans, 3 Trills ... and 1 person of completely unknown origin (at least according to his tricorder). A crew complement of 94.

Chakotay shook his head inwardly. How did the captain manage to keep track of these **very** different species?

"I'll explain later," Mel's voice muttered in his ear and abruptly dragged him out of his contemplative mood. He almost jumped, slightly disturbed by the fact that this woman could read him like a book before she even got to know him.

The crew greeted their boss with a loud cheer and the commander now expected her full voice to bellow 'QUIET'. She didn't. Instead she walked down into their midst??? and held her hand up to receive 'high fives'???

Stunned he followed her in her tracks, though he kept his hand to himself.

Mel Dayton lifted her hands and indicated that she would now prefer silence. Immediately the crowd simmered down and she began without fussing.

"Okay, guys. Today's programme: evaluation of our recent drill, briefing on our next assignment, introduction of new crew members."

The crew sat down on whatever was available and Mel located a storage box that seemed appropriate. Chakotay, still somewhat confused, sat down on a barrel of something unidentified.

"Mallennie Millie, take it away," the captain said, nodding at a Bajoran female who boldly and without hesitation stepped forward. Chakotay tensed. She looked a little like Seska in her Bajoran disguise, long dark hair, pointy nose, upswept upper lip and dimples. Damn.

However, her voice was quite different. A little low and somewhat male. Her precision in summing up the drill was admirably precise, worthy of the accuracy of a Vulcan.

When she had finished, Mel Dayton leaned forward and cut through the dense atmosphere of the hall with a fitting comment that might as well have been a sharp knife:

"That was what was **supposed** to have happened - now, let's hear what **really** happened."

The person of unidentified species stepped forward and started laying out the main points of the executed drill and Chakotay noticed the anomalies immediately. This crew had been subjected to several surprises in the programme.

Chakotay also noticed the speaker. The first officer cocked his head and scrutinised the man - the being? - more closely. He looked human. He looked extremely human. A tall, lean man with smooth facial lines, brown eyes, tawny and curly hair, Greek nose and broad forehead. Then, why did his tricorder run amok when he tried to consult its readings?

"I'll tell you about him later too," Mel suddenly whispered.

Damn.

How **did** she do that? Was he really that transparent?

The reports had been given. The hall was quiet.

Finally the captain rose and slowly walked into the centre of the crowd.

"Okay." She squared her shoulders, "so where did we go wrong?"

A Vulcan of medium height and of surprisingly fair complexion rose. Mel nodded at her.

"You presented us with surprises that we did not manage to adapt to."

Short and accurate.

"Specifics," Mel requested. Also short and accurate.

"Moments A, C, G, and H went within acceptable parameters. Moments B, D, E, and F turned out with unsatisfactory results."

Mel turned to survey the rest of the crew.

"Now what state would we have been in had this been for real?"

The entire crew rose and to Chakotay's immense surprise roared:

"****Dumb, damned and dead!"

Mel nodded pensively, looking down. When she looked up again, her face was steel.

"I don't want to lose any of you. In fact, I love you people so damn much that I want drills round the clock for two days, beginning tomorrow at 0700 hrs. That will leave you one day of relaxation before we take off again and we will all survive if ever put in a situation like the one we just drilled. Any questions?"

The crowd was silent. No cheers, but no sulking either.

Then Mel Dayton's countenance changed completely. She flashed a very charming smile at her men and drew out a PADD, stuffed, Chakotay knew, with information on their next assignment.

"You will no doubt be dancing with delight to know that our next assignment will be a piece of cake... a least on paper... so to speak."

Relaxed laughter. The unfortunate drill was already about to be forgotten.

Their next caper was freeing a senator on Sigma 5. Apparently he had been captured by extremists from the planet, Ethnara, whose president herself had asked the Federation to strike down her countrymen and free the Sigmarian senator. All diplomatic options had apparently been exhausted and the extremists had given their home world and Sigma 5 one week to grant them their wishes: complete reorganisation of the Ethnaran government and the execution of all politicians.

"We have four days to come up with, drill and perform an OP that will free the senator with the lowest possible body count. I already have all available info on the job and research, all I need now is a session with my COs. The rest of you drill on - and don't forget to let me know if you have some out- or insider info on the situation on Sigma 5 that I don't."

Chakotay blinked. She encouraged the crew to offer her ideas and information???

The captain straightened and sat down again. Her smile was all affable and relaxed, and her amber eyes sparkled with teasing delight. The last point on the agenda was in front of her.

"And now... new crew members."

The crew reacted with big smiles, shifting their weight, and eyes were invariably drawn to two tripping persons, who weren't quite sure what to do with themselves.

"Ensign John Mastodonati and Lieutenant H'tkar Ish - step forward."

A Human male and a Saurian female hesitantly approached the centre of the circle.

Mel cleared her voice.

"And Commander Chakotay."

The first officer looked at her in surprise. Him? Out there? With the two others? She steeled her eyes. Spirits, she actually meant it.

The big man stepped into the circle with very tentative steps while he goofily smiled and nodded at the two other victims.

"Troop - atteeeenTION!" their captain barked.

All three automatically stood attention, straight on line. With deliberately slow steps Melanie Dayton then inspected the line, occasionally brushing off an invisible speckle of dust on a shoulder or straightened a crooked sleeve or collar. Finally she stopped in front of them.

"Commander Chakotay, Ensign John Mastodonati and Lieutenant H'tkar Ish. You are hereby activated as members of the meanest, leanest and keenest fighting machine in the Federation. Congratulations. Tonight I leave you in the conscientious care of my men, who will make sure that you get introduced to all our ways, traditions and odd perversions. Men... " she turned to face the rest of the crew, " ...they are all yours."

And the three defenceless soldiers were attacked and abducted by a crowd of howling homicidal madmen- and women completely beyond control.

As Chakotay was carried away by the horde, he swore by his ancestors that he would get back at his new captain for not warning him of this horrible assault. That is... if he survived the night.

*

Mel was met by Myth as she left the hall. He caught up with her easily and didn't speak a word until they entered the turbo lift.

"You think that was wise?" Myth asked.

Mel regarded her invaluable tactical officer. He seldom said anything about the crew to her.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"If he cracks - how would we find a new first officer this close to the caper?"

"Better now than during the OP. We could pull it off without a new first officer," Mel said calmly. Myth shrugged, his slender shoulders describing a graceful curve. He couldn't argue with that.

"You didn't tell him about me, did you?"

"No. He was sure puzzled by the tricorder readings." She chuckled.

"Why didn't you?"

They left the lift, both striding along with long steps.

"If he bails out, I don't want him to be a liability - somebody outside our crew that knows about you."

Again, Myth couldn't argue with her wisdom. He stopped at his own room and she proceeded to hers. Without turning she told him one last instruction:

"Keep an eye on him and our crew's eagerness. Let me know your opinion later tonight - I value it."

Myth nodded. He knew that of the entire crew the cap relied on him the most.

The realisation made the heart he didn't have swell with pride.

Meanwhile the crew of the _Chief Cochise_ was in full swing with the initiation of the three new crew members. They had pushed and pulled them all to the station's holodeck and had programmed a programme with wild horses, all designed to thoroughly throw off anybody that was foolhardy enough to attempt mounting and/or riding them. Bets were on faster than warp speed. Since Commander Chakotay was a Native American, odds that he would remain sitting more than 3 minutes were high. They strapped the poor man to the back a particularly vicious looking stallion whose sole purpose in life appeared to be having Starfleet commanders for lunch. The first officer closed his eyes, sent his sincere prayers to all the spirits he knew off and 1½ minutes later made a minority of the hooting crew very rich and happy.

The big man picked himself up from the dust. Suited them right to go with old-fashioned prejudice.

The festive activities of the night proceeded. After the eager crew had fed the three unfortunate crewmen with the most disgusting, alien dishes, which they had to catch and kill first, the Vulcans were asked to dress the two men out like women and the woman out like a man as accurately as possible. With conscientious precision they carried out the assignment to perfection that anyone entering the holodeck at that time, might truly have taken the three victims for their opposite genders. One of the pointy eared aliens even saw fit to curl the commander's hair and adorn it with little red ribbons.

_How can Vulcans of all people go along with this??_ the commander thought desperately.

Stunt followed stunt and to the commander's consternation, he didn't know any of them in advance. The spirits knew that he had had his share at the Academy, but these gags seemed constructed solely by and for this sick crew, he was sure. In fact, he wouldn't be at all surprised if the chief architect behind them turned out to be the captain herself.

The door to the deck swooshed open and let in the odd specimen that made tricorders go wild. Chakotay had time to briefly wonder where the mystery man had been before being grabbed for some strange performance. Now, that the three men were so cutely dressed up, the crew decided they had to deliver a song and a dance.

The Saurian was apparently getting into the mood. She started singing a good, old-fashioned, intergalactic battle song that everybody knew, including the commander, and the whole bunch was soon singing along utterly out of key.

Then they started dancing. Chakotay found to his immense surprise that he danced with them. The Italian with the odd name voluntarily mooned everybody and the Saurian performed a very interesting splits that split her costume if nothing else.

And Chakotay laughed.

And laughed.

The crew laughed with him, and he was carried away for new stunts.

And all the time the unidentified crewman stood silently in a corner, smiling to himself, his gentle eyes never leaving the three new seamen.

When night came, Chakotay had forgotten about him. He found himself more busy telling these new colleagues all about himself, his adventures and experience and afterwards listening to the stories of his new friends and subordinates. The setting of the deck was now a campfire on Delta 6, the home world of the Deltan, who had insisted that this would be perfect for story telling.

And it was. Chakotay came to meet his immediate subordinate, Dayton's third and science officer, the Bajoran, Mallennie Millie, and he stopped comparing her to Seska. He heard about her escape from a Cardassian prison, how she had hauled Gul Betak with her and introduced him to Dayton, who had liked him so much that he was now running Astrometrics. He shared an Andorian beer with Eclatar, the ship's pilot, who told him that the short, plump chief engineer, Josh Abraham, was known as "The Ape", because he was so agile that he practically crawled on his engines to make them work. And they did.

Despite activated holo-security the commander had strained his knee, which was immediately taken care of by T'Rees, the Vulcan chief medical officer, who commanded her sickbay with the precision indigenous to her species. Her almost complete contrast could be found in the ship's chief security officer, Lt. Masomo Rwani from Tanzania, who was perhaps the tallest, broadest and most personable and spontaneous security officer Chakotay had ever encountered.

In short, Chakotay was introduced to everybody (except the mystic non-species being), and they were introduced to him.

When the commander crept into his bed that night (as soon as he had got the jelly beans out of his hair), he knew that he would be sleeping like a new-born baby.

Perhaps he wouldn't get back at his captain right away.

It could wait.

He had time.

*

Her beeper rang her just as she was entering her second REM sleep. Very drowsy and almost completely engulfed in dreams, she was forced to resurface to answer the hail.

"What?" Melanie Dayton growled into the comlink.

"Myth here. You wanted to be notified about my opinion later this night."

Mel bit back a furious reply. Myth knew exactly what to say to disarm her rage.

"Then let me have it."

Myth smiled in the other end. They always played a little trick on their cap after an evening like this. Myth was only happy to oblige his fellow crew members' wish.

"The commander bonded quite nicely. We have our new first officer."

"Very well," she grumbled, "remind me to kick your bloody bucket with you in it into null space one of these days," she added evilly.

The last thing she heard before she cut the link was Myth's clear, pearly laughter. She smiled.

She had always liked the man... or whatever one would call a being like that.  
  


On to **[Part 2][1]**  


   [1]: ChiefCochise2.html



	2. The Chief Cochise, chapter 2

ChiefCochise2

**The Chief Cochise**

**_Part 2_**

  
  


The _Chief Cochise_ could easily be described as a bucket of bull. Or perhaps even as a can of trash. Yet again, one might call it a heap of artistically arranged metal crap.

Whatever the preferred designation, one could not dispute that the ship had personality. And once inside, particularly after having accompanied the crew on a couple of missions, one would have to admit (reluctantly, albeit) that its looks were very deceptive.

In fact, the ship was highly efficient and very lethal when it had to be.  
  


Commander Chakotay called it neither of the above-mentioned names. His first comment was: "But didn't I crash that on a Kazon ship at the Caretaker's array?". The flying junk yard looked so much like his old flagship that he almost went into instant nostalgic regression.

Myth, standing behind him, smiled.

"We all felt we were coming home when we saw the _Chief_ the first time," he said, his voice almost getting wishful.

"And... where would your original home be, Myth?" Chakotay tried, not knowing squad about the lieutenant commander yet.

The being patted his back.

"Nice try, Sir. But patience. If you will come with me, the cap is about to tell you. That... and other secrets."  
  


Myth led him through the narrow hallways of the _Chief_. The ship was for a crew complement of 100 and they were 95 (Rosie hadn't been there the night before).

Chakotay peeked curiously round corners, hoping that it wouldn't be long before he was taken the grand tour on this little pearl of a ship.

The door to the captain's ready room was open and Myth hardly bothered to knock before he entered with the commander.

"We're here, Cap," he announced. Mel didn't move, but simply barked 'out' to the few engineers who were still working with the last details of the overhaul.

Once they were alone, Myth sealed the door and sat down next to the commander without waiting for an invitation.

Mel Dayton was in her blue-grey captain's uniform with the obligatory four pips on the collar. Her hair had been tamed moderately, but her face was still completely devoid of make-up. Perhaps this woman simply did not use make-up, Chakotay decided. Not that he complained; he had always thought it easier to describe and read a woman's face if it was naked. This woman sat down informally, threw her long legs over her desk, winked at the surprised commander and said without preamble:

"I bet you have been bending over to find out who the heck Myth here is - or rather _what_ he is, right?"

"I must admit to a certain degree of curiosity..." the commander relented. Mel grinned at his very Vulcan verbal expression. Then she nodded at Myth, who stood and bowed to Chakotay.

"I am a distant cousin to Odo from DS9. I have abandoned my family and species because I believe that what they do is wrong. I have pledged my life and service to this ship, its crew and its captain."

Being extremely busy picking up his jaw from his lap, Chakotay was entirely incapable of uttering a coherent and appropriate reply for quite some while. Finally he got a grip and stuttered:

"You... you're a shape-shifter???"

Myth bowed again.

"A very good one too." Mel grinned at her first officer.

"But you... my tricorder..."

The captain leaned forward and explained:

"On readings shape-shifters normally register as the species they are copying. However, out of courtesy - and to calm down certain jumpy persons - Myth has agreed not to utilise that specific ability when not on an op or mission. Instead, he makes sure that tricorders go bananas. More honest than suddenly making up fake readings of any kind."

"You must be invaluable on missions," Chakotay muttered, almost hypnotised by the stunning disclosure.

"He's invaluable, period," Mel corrected him, "you will learn when and how to seek advice from him and when and how to make use of his special skills."

Myth nodded, "I look forward to working with you, Commander," he said politely and sat down again.

"The next question that arose in your mind yesterday," Captain Dayton continued, "was how to keep track of this medley of aliens and their special skills and personalities, right?"

"Right." Chakotay admitted weakly.

"The answer is: you have to get to know them personally. Almost all of them. Sorry. I know it's quite a job to get to know 75 odd people - but it's necessary for the ship to function effectively. Crew matters will be your field of responsibility, as you very well know, and I only speak from experience. Get to know them. I know you were off to a good flying start last night."

Chakotay winced. He wondered how much she knew or had heard about that particular night. Mel rose and nodded to Myth.

"Have Myth take you on a tour. Meet Rosie - she's in her place already, bitching over the remaining maintenance staff messing up her circles. Take a look at Engineering and crawl around the engines the way Josh does (and I'm sure you have heard his nick by now), breathe the air of our Hydroponics bay and familiarise yourself with our special weapons. In other words: have fun."

Chakotay smiled and nodded. The shape-shifter took him by the elbow and lowered his voice conspiratorially:

"Let's get Rosie over with first. Then we can relax."  
  


Chakotay followed this fascinating being, who seemed to regard the upcoming event with some awe and trepidation.

_Another Neelix?_ the commander wondered as they walked down a particularly long aisle. No. Neelix may have irritated some, but he never instigated fear or excessive respect.

The big Native American got his answer as the two of them rounded the next corner, which led them into the small space craft's mess hall.

"Entering the lion's den?" he murmured foolishly.  
  


"GET THE CRAP OUT OF HERE AND MIND YOUR BLEEDING LANGUAGE!"

The first officer, who had survived the Cardassian attack on his home world, a trying time among the Maquis, several painful years in the Deltan Quadrant and serving Kathryn Janeway, jumped at the powerful voice and found himself reduced to a mere school kid.

"Your mother" had the captain said. She hadn't been kidding.  
  


Of all the beings he had encountered within the last couple of days - actually, in his entire life - this was the most awe-inspiring, intimidating, impressive, imposing, menacing and respect-inducing phenomenon.  
  


Rosie turned out to be a two-meter-tall obese female human of supposedly Italian origin with the voice and glance to match her voluminous body. She hovered several inches over him with her fists on her hips, her legs spread and her broad, lower jaw protruding to make the similarity to a bulldog complete.

Chakotay was speechless. He couldn't tear away his eyes from her meaty face that appeared to be turning redder and redder, rapidly and relentlessly aiming for a ridiculously extreme shade of red.

The XO was afraid. He was very afraid.

As it was, the shape-shifter came to his rescue or the _Chief Cochise_ would have been frighteningly close to losing its new first officer even before he had been broken in.

"Now, Rosie, there's no need to eat us raw. We just wanted our new XO to meet you."

Chakotay was fascinated to see that so much fat could actually turn with the face as she whipped her head to stare at him.

"Is he house-broken?"

No one answered.

"I ASKED: IS HE HOUSE-BROKEN???"

Chakotay turned his head to Myth in pure, undiluted and premordial angst.

"Why don't you answer her?" he asked, his voice low and trembling.

"She's asking you." Myth whispered back, unperturbed.

"But..."

"She always speaks to people in third person."

Chakotay painfully returned his attention to the even redder mother in front of him.

"Yes,Iamhousebroken." He said, warp-speed.

"He will answer when spoken to." Rosie growled.

"He will remember that." Myth helped him and bowed politely to her, "Now, Rosie, I take it the mess hall is closed for beverages."

Finally simmering down a bit Rosie answered in a tone almost normal.

"Yes! Those fucking maintenance _cretini_ have been all over the place - turned it inside out."

Myth now allowed himself something that Chakotay was sure would have him annihilated in an instant. He said:

"Why, Rosie, how come they still alive?"

The Italian mama did something quite unexpected. She almost smiled. Almost. The sight scared Chakotay more than her roaring had.

"The night is young." She stated evilly.  
  


Her homicidal laughter followed the two of them into the hall way.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Josh "The Ape" Abraham had just come down from a power conduit when he registered movement from the right warp computer control station. Wrinkling the brow the pycnic little man swung himself from console to console until he landed adroitly in front of the intruder.

A tall elegant Vulcan female looked up without the slightest trace of surprise at the monkey-man's equilibristic exercises.

"How may I help you, T'Rees?" he asked, winking at her and employing his most winning smile. The little plump man might have had some luck with a human female. T'Rees knew that he was considered to be quite charming among women in general.

However, being Vulcan - and knowing the Chief Engineer like the back of her hand, allowed her to limit her reaction to a raised eyebrow.

"I am in no need of assistance at this point..." she stated.

"Good!" Josh beamed, "Then you're off, I take it?"

T'Rees didn't utter a word and after a little while Josh sighed pitifully. He knew damn well why she was there.

"Listen, Doc - I'm fine. You really don't need to check me. I guarantee you..."

T'Rees permitted herself to smile inwardly. She had this banter with the engineer every time it was time for a medical check-up. The reason was obvious. Every time the Vulcan CMO would demand that he lose weight and cut down on the cigars, an ugly ancient Earth habit that the Ape seemed to have revived to some extent.

"Mr Abraham, it is very simple. So simple that even your nicotine- and unsaturated fat haunted brain should be able to comprehend the basics: either you come with me - now, or I ask the captain to be of assistance to me."

Josh blanched. If she wanted to bring out the big gun, he had lost already. He sighed dramatically for effect and protest, opened his mouth to consent... and was then saved by the proverbial gong.  
  


"Mr Abraham..." Myth's polite voice rang like sweet relief from the entrance to Engineering. "I would like to..." he continued, but was cut short by Josh:

"Indeed, indeed. Dear man, why come in, come in. Oh? You have brought our new first officer. Splendid idea - marvellous, grand..."

His ranting continued as he - somewhat un-gently - hauled in the two visitors and started explaining the function of the engines to the new addition to the crew.

T'Rees watched him pull off another stunt to avoid the unavoidable in the dignified silence that was so characteristic of her people.

Her mouth twitched. If Vulcans smirked, this was it.

_Enjoy your period of grace, human, _she thought in a very un-Vulcan manner_, I will get you eventually._  
  


Chakotay was impressed. Not by the advanced technology that was virtually non-existent in the _Chief Cochise'_s engineering section, but by the innovative use of bits and pieces from all over the quadrant. He would never have thought, for instance, that a Romulan electrical whip could be connected to a power relay and thus enhance the amps by 300 %. It was no less than brilliant. An instrument of pain and torture finally be useful for non-violent purposes.

The small, round man swung himself up on a console from which he could reach a generator that was hooked into the warp core.

"This old-fashioned Altharian generator," the Ape beamed, "has been modified to transfer residual warp power waste to a back-up battery. We assimilate no less than two fully loaded coils per light year at warp 6."

"Coils? You use quaint coils??"

The Ape positively radiated warp energy himself.

"A stroke of genius, eh? Using coils as storage we still have the back-up power should the _Chief'_s computer crash."

"There is something to be said for ancient solutions." Myth said, for once expanding his small, gentle smile to fit his entire approximation of a face.

The Ape swung himself down again, happy as a clam...

... until he landed in front of feet he recognised only too well.

Oh, oooh. The captain. T'Rees had summoned the big boss.

Mel Dayton turned to face Myth and her new XO.

"Gentlemen, this tour is over. You may now proceed to Sickbay," without warning she grabbed Josh's ear, "and take this absentee with you. He has an appointment with our CMO."

She presented a very bemused commander with Josh's ear as well as the rest of him.

"Commander, I make you personally responsible for this ear and its owner. Make sure both of them reach Sickbay and report to Lieutenant T'Rees."

Chakotay took the ear and what was in its wake delicately from Mel's hand.

"Acknowledged, Ma'am. I shall guard them with my life."

She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. Good. He fell into the tone easily.  
  


Sickbay looked exactly like Commander Chakotay had expected it would, being led and supervised by a Vulcan.

The room was completely clean, everything appeared to be in its place, the instruments hummed the way they were supposed to, and even the one patient present lay straight without a fold on the blanket.

T'Rees came out looking as neat as her surroundings. She was rather stunning looking with thick jet black hair, coiled in a tight braid that formed a beautiful pattern on her head. Her slightly slanted eyes were green like a cat's, her ears particularly pointed and her skin almost as dark as his.

_Female Vulcans can be so beautiful, but they don't radiate the warmth to match it,_ the commander thought with some regret.

However, it was a clear and common mistake that they didn't have humour. The tall Vulcan approached the threesome and deadpanned a 'thank you', carefully taking the ear and whatever was attached to it in her own hand and led it all to the nearest biobed.

There she restrained the reluctant patient, ignoring his protests and threats, and returned to her two other guests, prepared to accomodate any question they may have.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


The captain of the _Chief Cochise_ had barely reached her ready room before a message from the space station was beeping on her console. She punched it open, knowing well who it would be.

"You got it?" she asked the jovial bear face that appeared on her screen. The face smiled at her and her inappropriate intro to the call.

"Transferring file... now."

"Decryption?"

"Modification B5."

"Transfer complete."

"So how's he shaping up?"

"Promising."

"Promising, promising. Is that the only verdict you can dig up these days."

"It's more than you are used to. Take it or leave it."

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled the bear, "incidentally. The station has received a message from your mother. You want it?"

"Certainly. Standing by."

"Forwarding."

"Receiving."

Then suddenly she cracked open in a relaxed grin.

"Have you noticed how much we sound like computers every time we're on the air?"

"Old habits die slowly."

"You can say that again."

"Well, I'll leave you with your mail. Get back to me when you are ready to rock 'n roll."

He had the pleasure of seeing Mel's well-shaped eyebrows make it to the edge of her hair.

"Rock 'n roll?"

"An ancient expression - check out the history of music, Mel."

"Not my territory, Bob."

"I know. I'll leave you with your poetry, then. Bye."  
  


Mel concentrated on the family message first. Her mother knew that she was the commanding officer of some space craft that was supposed to be hush-hush, though not completely covert, which is why her messages always were sent through the nearest space station. Yet, as a good mother, she also knew when her offspring was about to enter a perilous situation.

Mel's heart ached a bit as she watched that sweet, familiar face shimmer into existence on the screen. Her mother looked like herself. Perhaps her hair was a bit whiter, perhaps she had a wrinkle or two more since the last time they had communicated, but that was all. Lizzie Sewall still had those piercing porcelain blue eyes and that delicately white and rosy complexion that were so beloved in Mel's eyes. People who saw them together may have wondered how mother and daughter could be so infinitely different... until they saw her father. Dr Jonathan Dayton was just as dark where Lizzie was fair. His bloodline was connected to Turks, Italians and Europeans with the Turk and Italian genome clearly dominant.

Mel knew she was a perfect mix of her heritage. Her father's dark, dark eyes had never conquered her maternal Nordic branch's water blue eyes completely and the result was a peculiar amber shade, which she didn't care for much herself. Her skin's honey colour had also been created by nature's way of mixing the palette at hand, and her hair, though dark, was nothing near her father's deeply dark brown burr.

"Hello, honey." Her mother's melodious voice seemed to caress her mind, - just what the doctor ordered "I hope you're well and keeping an eye on yourself and not just others... hmmm?"

"I am, Mom, I am." Mel whispered to the image.

"I haven't heard from your dad for quite some while, but I imagine he is well. **_He_** knows how to take care of himself, so I take it that you look more like me in that respect." Her tone had become awfully wry. Mel smirked. Not only did her mother know her frighteningly well - she also knew herself to the letter.

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I think of you and every day prey that you may live long enough to grant me some grandchildren [Mel sighed, though still smiling]. Aren't there any nice young men aboard your ship who might interest you?"

Mel winced.  
  


The message ended with the usual edict to wear warmer clothes and remember to clean her teeth before her mother winked at her and bid her farewell.

The captain of the _Chief Cochise_ turned off the monitor with a grin. Had mothers been the same always? She wondered. Did mothers of the 15th century say the same things to their children? And did they nag them about grandchildren to the same extent? Hardly, she decided, in those days women were birthing machines... few of their mothers had to worry about grandchildren.

Mel shook her head, the grin reduced to a gentle smile.

She would survive the next assignment like she had survived so many before it. And she would do it for her men and for her family.

And for the sheer spite of it.  
  


The blueprints of the parliament on Sigma 5 were so comprehensive that Mel had to transfer the viewing to the big screen on the bridge. It was easily done since the bridge was completely empty of both ship's crew and maintenance, which meant that no security protocol was breached. Mel sighed a sigh that this time had nothing to do with her mother.

Sigmarian building construction turned out to be hopelessly complicated and... imaginative, and the extremists had been clever enough to put their hostage somewhere where her biochemical signals were untraceable ... or??? Or???  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


"I don't believe the senator is in the Parliament anymore."  


Captain Mel Dayton stood in front of the all her CO's on an inactive bridge where only the big screen was on. The blueprints were glimmering clearly and were paradoxically sending a greenish sheen out into the room to envelope all the participants of the meeting.

"What makes you say that, Cap?" the big security chief asked. Chakotay hadn't so far talked much with the tall black man from Tanzania, a fact which made him intent on studying his fellow officer in his element.  


"Information." Mel said, right to the point, "According to reliable sources the entire building is **_not_** shielded from EMP scanning, and nothing suggests that the extremists have the sources they need to generate a dampening field round the entire complex. These people are smart and good with improvisation - my guess is that instead of relying on technology, they have found a way to relocate the senator, leaving some of themselves to breathe life to the illusion that they are all still there."

"Simple and effective." Mallennie Millie stated. Myth nodded.

"That would make sense." He agreed, "They could have taken transportable dampeners with them to shield their escape from the parliament."

"Are there tunnels leading away from the building?" Chakotay spoke for the first time.

The captain indicated some faint lines on the blueprint.

"Here, here and here. They are allegedly ancient sewers from a time before warp technology."

"I still don't understand why an important building like that does not enjoy the safe haven of EMP dampening fields." The commander mused.

"The Sigmarians haven't invented it yet, and the Federation Prime Directive..." Mallennie informed him.

"I know all about the Prime Directive." Chakotay said a tad bitterly. To his surprise they all chuckled.

"I daresay you do," Mel grinned at him, "we all do, and we are all crippled by it. But there are ways round that. You'll see."

"Legitimate ways?"

"That too." Mel concurred and thus opted the entire bridge to roar with laughter. Chakotay looked round him in surprise. This really was **_quite_** different from what he was used to.  
  


The meeting was temporarily interrupted by a heavily breathing Gul Betak, who was smothered with all sorts of dirt. Obviously he had just come from the drills that the rest of the crew was supposed to go through.

Chakotay felt himself stiffen by the sight of the Cardassian, still feeling the old antagonism against the species. And then he felt a couple of keen eyes probing him and turned his head to find Mel's disconcerting, amber eyes study him intently. She knew. And he knew she would bring it up at some point. There could be no disharmony between her CO's, they both knew that.

"You wanted me for some Astrometrics input, Cap?" the Cardassian huffed.

Gul Betak was surprisingly short for his species. His ridges ran gracefully along his neck and shoulders, but they seemed to make a stop when reaching his ears and then fade out as if they had lost speed in the attempt to reach the summit. His face, however, was typically Cardassian, slim with long lines and deeply set lizard eyes. Brown hair, not jet black, seemed glued to his skull from which it escaped down his neck and back only to be caught in a tight braid that reached his waist. His complexion was darker than Seska's had been when she had returned to her original genome, but then male Cardassians were darker than female in general.

Chakotay suppressed a grimace. This would take some getting used to.

"That's right, Betak. I have forwarded a star system to your station. I want you to determine where the hell that is and then come back to me ASAP."

Gul Betak grinned unexpectedly. The commander wasn't sure he liked the sight.

"Does that mean, I'm off the drill, Cap?"

Mel smiled dangerously.

"No, that means that you have to work harder to catch up with the others. In other words: the longer it takes you to locate that star system..."

"I get the drift." Betak said hastily and exited faster than the roadrunner.

Mel's eyes returned to her first officer just as Gul Betak left; eyes that promised, _we talk later_.  
  


The meeting ended with a sketchy plan that consisted in a team going in via the ancient sewers, another team that would act as decoy, going into the Parliament itself and a third back-up team that was supposed to watch the first team's butt. The teams would be led by respectively Jonesy, Chakotay and Hildegard.

The commander was surprised for perhaps the umpeth time within the past three days. Only one bridge officer was going planet side, the others were squad leaders.

He carefully approached his captain with the issue afterwards.

"Yes? So?" Evidently she didn't quite get his comment.

"Is that not risky to leave those assignments to sergeants?"

"Of course not. It's what they are trained for." She held up a hand to stop the argument she predicted would come.

"I know how you people operate on a regular starship. But you have to understand that this starship and this crew handle situations that are more military than anything else Starfleet does. So: we operate with as few key officers out as possible and use the operations sergeants and their teams the way they should be used. We do the planning - they do the hero stuff. We usually work with one operational leader - a CO - present at the scene. And that's all."

"You are never in the field?" Chakotay asked her with unmasked amazement and ill-concealed relief.

"As little as humanly possible." Mel promised him, "And I usually keep Masomo aboard too. I have never understood the starship captains who insist on sending down their own security officer. Stupid."

Chakotay had to agree with her. The security chief's job was to protect the captain and the ship. Yet again and again he had seen how the very same person was assigned to away-missions.  
  


Leaving his new captain's ready room, he let out a deep breath of profound relief.

For once he wouldn't have to fight an endless battle with his commanding officer about staying on the bridge.

It would be a new feeling for sure.  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


Fifty hours later the rest of the crew were done drilling. The results were not very much better than the first ones, but that didn't seem to bother Captain Dayton. She assured her somewhat concerned first officer that after one days sleep for these people, everything would 'fall into place' and the operation would go smoothly.

"You don't drill the upcoming operation?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Too much confidence."

"Sorry?"

"We are going into territory incognito. If we drill this in a set that is designed to look like the real thing, the men will be lulled into believing that this is what they will encounter. And both you and I know that **nothing** is ever what you expect. This crew is constantly trained in dealing with unexpected situations. This is what they know. Nothing's fixed, nothing's predetermined. Start drilling them like that, and they will lose the ability of always being watchful and adaptable."

"However," she continued before he got a chance to argue, "we will brief them of the basics and give them all the information we have available. You lay out the main lines of this and give them a wide birth to solve the problems presented to them themselves."

"What??" (another surprise), "You let them lay out their own plans?"

"Of course. They know what to do a helluva lot better than I do. The sergeants know their men and squads in and out. They know what weapons to employ, what equipment to bring. You just point the way and tell them their assignment and they'll do their job."  
  


Things started making sense to Commander Chakotay. After so many years with a captain who wanted to stay on top of everything and lead everybody, he was beginning to see how this was much more like a field army. Or rather: a hybrid. A fleet captain sending out her field army troops, relying on their expertise, trusting their sense of judgement.  
  


"And, Commander," she said, her tone becoming a degree more serious. Chakotay knew then what was coming. She stopped and turned to face him, both their faces being somewhat dim in the sparse illumination of the corridor.

"Do I have any cause to be concerned about the relationship between you and Gul Betak?"

He must have rehearsed his answer to the question he knew would come a hundred times. And yet, now that the moment had come, he felt himself stiffen and grow taciturn, unable to formulate his carefully prepared reply. The silence was revealing.

"I see," she sighed, and he keenly felt that he was letting her down. It hurt.

"Well, resolve it."

And with that clear order she turned and proceeded down the corridor without him.

Chakotay suddenly felt very, very alone.  
  


The next day the _Chief Cochise_ scuffled away from the station and set its course for Sigma 5 with a little detour.

Gul Betak had managed to identify and locate the star system, Mel Dayton had requested, and ever since Chakotay had been wondering what that star system really was, where it was and what the captain had in mind.

However, if he wanted the information, he would have to approach Gul Betak. The captain was mute as an oyster. Intentionally? Part of a scheme? He wouldn't put it past her.  
  


The astrometrics expert was humming pleasantly in his den. Stellar Cartography with its impressive three dimensional monitor was the only place Chakotay hadn't visited since he had boarded the _Chief_. Needless to say why.

Yet, the Cardassian looked so... harmless, as he trotted round the platform, punching a control here, adjusting a scale there. Watching the artificial space spin with fascinating grace, it was easy to see why Mel had been so keen on keeping aboard their former foe aboard. Betak had an almost ridiculously sharp and accurate eye when it came to space and perspective. He travelled round through and among the coordinates and the three dimensional paths as easily and with the same zest as the proverbial fish in its proverbial water.

Chakotay took a tentative step towards the erect back of his one-time foe. Betak heard this and without turning said:

"Welcome to my world, Commander. I have been expecting you."

Then he did turn and added:

"And I can well understand why you may feel apprehension towards me."

"I do not feel apprehension towards you." Chakotay protested, in classic denial.

Gul Betak folded his hands and cocked his head, and looked at the Native American in the same manner as one would a particularly slow child.

"Yes, you do. Just as I did towards everybody when I first came here."  
  


Chakotay blinked. He had never considered that side of the story. But naturally a Cardassian must have felt more than threatened by being surrounded by former antagonists, both humans and Bajorans.

"Then why did you come here in the first place?" Chakotay asked almost hoarsely.

The Cardassian shrugged. Such an awkward movement for shoulders packed with ridges. The XO dully wondered if that wasn't a habit the man had picked up from spending time with humans.

"What makes a man leave his home world for good? What makes him forget about his family, his duty, his culture, his government?", he asked looking down, ostensibly finding his shoes fascinating.

Then he looked up and met Chakotay's glance with those intriguing reptilian eyes of his, and answered his own question.

"Screams, Commander. That's what. Screams."

"Screams?" he knew screams. Screams of his world with thousands of souls dying.

"Screams of dying prisoners." The Cardassians stated with a calm that made the statement so much more damning.

"Screams of enemies of the state, screams of innocent worlds that didn't appear to have done anything to deserve murder and havoc. Screams, Commander, of foes."

He looked down again and let the eyes of his commanding officer go, murmuring on:

"I was the prison guard of the prison in which Mallennie Millie was held... she was young, graceful, her eyes full of life and spite. I couldn't face the prospect of those eyes reduced to low embers and slowly die before my very eyes. Like I had seen so many times before... so many times..."

And then he returned to his station.

"I had to do something..."  
  


Had he said that last remark? Chakotay couldn't really hear it clearly. Perhaps he had mumbled something and Chakotay's own mind had filled in the blanks?

The big man didn't know and didn't find it important to know. He acknowledged what he had heard with a nod of his head, whispered a hasty 'forgive me' and exited with considerably less dignity than the Cardassian had turned round.

It wasn't until he had returned to his own quarters that he realised that he had left Stellar Cartography without getting the answers to his original questions about the star system.  
  


The _Chief_ was fast on route to the captain's mystery detour. And her first officer was ready to embrace whatever the future and Mel Dayton had in hold for him.  
  
  


On to ****[Part 3][1]  


Either way, please **[tell][2]** me how you liked it.

   [1]: ChiefCochise3.html
   [2]: mailto:hyperhenry@get2net.dk



	3. The Chief Cochise, chapter 3

Henriette's Art and Fiction - The Chief Cochise 3

**The Chief Cochise**  


**_Part 3_**

  


Any artist would have felt mesmerised by the soul-thrilling image of a jet-black and shining starship orbiting a flaming red and orange planet with water clear crystal rings surrounding it.  
Any carbon-based entity would have felt moved by its breathtaking beauty and impressed by its immense range of swirling colours that performed an enigmatic dance of hide and seek.  
Any space farer would have felt his or her veins being filled with pure, undiluted love and heart jolting joy at the awe-inspiring sight of spatial art in its glory.

Commander Chakotay was no different. He recognised the elegant, black and silverish ship as belonging to the enigmatic Shreptar, an alien race from Dakkaru, fifth planet from Ceti 3, and when they were nearby, it meant information exchange - and trouble.  
The planet he didn't know and that too made him a trifle apprehensive.  
Yet, no anxiety could spoil the particular moment of beauty for him as the _Chief_ docked between the long phosphorescent poles that were constructed to catch and temporarily hold visiting spaceships.

"Smooth operation, gentlemen and women." Captain Dayton beamed as her old battered ship sailed through the docking procedure as easy and gracefully as a brand new, finely tuned galaxy class spacecraft.

Eclatar, the Andorian pilot, allowed his antennas to quiver a little in pride before he punched the 'hand brake' as his colourful captain so often liked to call the final locking procedure.

The docking at Chitara Duum was notoriously difficult to complete without a scratch. The fact that he had just done it without even touching the protruding poles spoke volumes about his pilot abilities. He knew that. The bridge crew knew it. The entire crew knew it. However, what mattered the most to him was that his captain had just acknowledged the incredibly showy performance in words; D-Day had a knack of letting people know when they had done something worth mentioning with such subtlety and elegance that most of her people would risk their lives to be subjected to her praise.  
Eclatar's highly sensitive antennas felt how Mel Dayton now turned round to deliver final orders before she went planet side. Had he turned the antennas 26 º instead of a mere 22º, he would even have sensed whom she addressed. As it was, he waited to listen to her verbal communication to find out.

"Commander, you and I have an errand on that planet. Get ready to beam down."

Both Chakotay's eyebrows hit the ceiling with an almost audible 'bump'. Only the day before she had assured him that she only went on away-missions in a dire emergency. Yet, here she was, diving right into one already, even suggesting that he join her. Two key officers off the bridge simultaneously.

The commander matched her stride as they walked down the corridor that suddenly seemed a lot shorter than he wanted it to be. He needed her full attention before she disappeared into her private quarters, so he decided to plunge right into it.

"Mel, are you serious? Are we going on an away mission?"

She turned those disconcerting amber eyes towards him, but she didn't slow down.

"An away mission? Jesus, no. What gave you that idea?"

Chakotay blinked...

"I don't understand... didn't you just now suggest that we go planet side together?"

"Indeed, I did. However, that hardly qualifies for an away mission, Commander. We are going down to get some info - it's as simple as that. We are still in the initial preparation stage, and I'm going down to meet one of my informants."

"A Shreptar."

"Ah! You noticed the ship, did you? Yeah, a Shreptar. A cautious s.o.b., who insists always to speak to me personally. However, this time I'm hauling your sorry butt with me. In case of my disablement, you take over not only the steering wheel but also my informants."

"I see." He said, trying damn hard not to let out his breath of relief to the extent that she would hear it.  
Of course, she heard it. Her acute ears were perfectly capable of catching the slight hissing sound that is so characteristic of a sigh of relief. She, on the other hand, was perfectly capable of hiding the smirk that threatened to turn the corners of her mouth upwards and thus give away how much his concern had amused her.

Fifteen minutes later they both stood in the midst of a busy and lively crowd of various aliens, very few of them indigenous to the planet. The place was hotter than hell due to a climate very much like the Vulcan, and both captain and commander had dressed accordingly in loose garments and sandals. Mel looked almost like a statue of sand and desert with her honey coloured complexion, her amber eyes and the khaki and golden/sandy clothes. Chakotay smiled. He probably looked like an ethnic Tuareg himself. A little more flow to the garments and his middle name could have been "Lawrence". Their pips were gone too and their rank and function momentarily forgotten.

"Destination?" he asked Mel as soon as she had solidified enough to use her vocal organs.

"There's a bar right over here where we might find him." She said, indicating a big dirty-white building that looked more like a tent than an actual solid building.

Mel led the way through the boiling cauldron pushing and puffing people of all sorts that opted Chakotay to clasp his combadge a tad maniacally through the fabric of his thin clothes to minimise the all too real risk of theft.  
The captain appeared to have no such fears. She shoved away the aliens as if she had been doing this all her life, and nobody seemed to take offence or even shove back. There was something amusing in seeing the slim woman plough her way through the crowd of big bulky beings, who could easily have thrown her over their left shoulder. Yet, the captain obviously radiated authority wherever she went, regardless of what species she was confronted with. Of course, she had to in order to be a captain or any kind of leader, Chakotay admitted to himself.

It just goes to say that size or gender has no saying when the tough gets going.  
Mel headed directly for the 'tent', entered without hesitation or tentative steps of any kind and went straight to the planet's equivalent of a bartender, who stood leaning on the counter, looking as if he had just been waiting for her in particular.  
They exchanged a few whispering words and Mel soon rejoined her first officer. No luck. They would have to try another bar.

After three bars, the fish was on the hook.  
And a particularly elegant fish it was too. Shreptars usually earned their living by selling information, that was a fact. However, any prejudice one might have about sleazy, disgusting, nauseating creepy snitches, who would sell their sick mother for a lousy penny without a second thought or even a first, was dropped right on the floor at the sight of a Shreptar. These were graceful beings, with long elegant limbs - five of them, to be precise - delicate fairy hair and translucent skin that reflected the surroundings. Their fragile facial lines and skeletal structure bore an unmistakable resemblance to the very elves of Terran mythology that humans had been so bewitched by from ancient time. In addition, they wore no clothes. No one would take them for sleazebags, and exactly this was their great and vital advantage in the risky game they played.

Mel Dayton approached the being with extreme caution, taking care not to stumble into its fragile limbs that were spread in front of it in careless comfort.

"I'i'e'l'i'ee." She pronounced with astounding accuracy.

"Me'el." The creature acknowledged, and then in somewhat more suspicious tone, "Who's wi'th y'ou?"

"No one you need to be concerned about, I'i'e'l'i'ee, this is my new second in command, Chaks."  
Chakotay didn't even start at his 'name'. He knew that full names were preferably and wisely avoided in dealings like these.

"C'hak's." I'i'e'l'i'ee whistled, high pitched.

"Ilee." Chakotay tried clumsily and bowed slightly. The being laughed. Such an interesting sound which perhaps dogs or whales could hear. As they were humans, they just saw the Shreptar grin and shake its delicate body, but they didn't hear a thing.

"P'le'ase. Do no't do t'hat ag'a'in. P'erh'aps y'ou co'u'ld l'i'm'it y'ours'elf to cal'l me L'ee."  
Chakotay nodded his consent, feeling goofy like a young ensign on his first FC mission, and they sat down at the table, Mel shouting for booze.

"I k'now' why y'ou a're h'e're." The graceful alien announced with something that looked like a smirk.

"I expected no less from you, friend." Mel smirked back, "So what have you got?"

"Ala's', prec'i'ous l'i'ttl'e." The being continued, attaining a regretful expression "No one li'ke's the s'itu'ati'on, not 'e'ven the Fer'e'ng'i who prov'i'ded the'm w'i'th w'e'a'pons."  
This got Mel's attention.

"The Ferengi are apprehensive? How come?"

"S'itu'ati'on mo'st l'i'kely to collaps'e - le'av'i'ng no surv'i'vors."

"And no one to buy more weapons from the Ferengi." Mel concluded with a wry smile. Chakotay grinned. Some things just never changed, some factors in the universe were always constant, and the absurd fact was that Ferengi being Ferengi was actually a good thing. No surprises there.

"I take it you have a list of the weapons the Ferengi were kind and gracious enough to sell the needy extremists?" the captain said, her eyes never leaving the fairy in front of her.

"I might." I'i'e'l'i'ee chirped melodiously.  
Something appeared in Mel's slim hand as by magic and disappeared just as magically into the Shreptar's body, as if it simply devoured it by osmosis.

"It is a long list." The thin limbed alien indicated, suggestively.  
More was absorbed by the pearly and waterish skin.

"I might even..."

"Spill it, I'i'e'l'i'ee." Mel said firmly in no uncertain terms. She knew when to put pressure on this informant, and the informant knew when the limit had been reached.

I'i'e'l'i'ee spilt the list faster than warp speed. Chakotay blinked. It was over before he even had had a chance to remember the four first weapon types. He looked at his captain, who seemed to take it all in without any effort at all. I'i'e'l'i'ee stopped as suddenly as it had started.

"Names, I'i'e'l'i'ee." Mel now demanded, letting the creature have a little extra for absorption.

"Only three, Me'el." The Shreptar assured.

"Give." Dayton said, her edge becoming a tad harder.

I'i'e'l'i'ee gave. Three names. One of them disturbingly familiar.

"That can't be true." Chakotay mumbled as he left the bar with his captain.

"On the ship, Chaks," Mel Dayton hissed intently, "We discuss it on the ship."  
Her first officer nodded. One never knew who was listening in a crowd like this.  
  
  


*

  
  


"Cap, you can't be serious?"

The incredulous voice belonged to the massive chief security officer whose big brown eyes were widened so much that Mel Dayton feared they could roll out of their sockets any minute.  
She didn't blame him his disbelief. In fact, she didn't blame any of her officers their disbelief.

"As to what we heard - yes, I am serious. As to whether it's true: hell, your guess is as good as mine." She rose from her comfortable and favourite position: legs on the table, and started to pace the room slowly, her frown revealing deep contemplation.

"There is no way we can have this confirmed or disconfirmed - we simply have to go into this under the supposition that I'i'e'l'i'ee's information is valid. We can't afford not to. We all know the guy's rep, right?"

"Not 'right', Cap," Betak said, "My knowledge about the said person is not overwhelming. Starfleet was always rather impressively good when it came to withholding information in the cybernetics field."

"Of course." Mel murmured, remembering where her astrometrics expert was from, and gestured at her science officer. Mallennie immediately plunged herself into a detailed account, her religious earrings chiming efficiently.

"You no doubt know about the famed android, Lieutenant Commander Data, who still is functional aboard Starfleet's flagship, the Enterprise?".

Gul Betak nodded, his eyes begging his old friend to continue.

"Well, what most non-federation aliens do not know is that there existed a prototype android before Data was constructed - his creator, Dr Noonian Soong, named him Lore."  
Betak leaned forward, recognising the name from I'i'e'l'i'ee's list.

"... and you have probably figured out from our primary reaction to his name that Lore was not a nice boy." Mallennie continued in a rather dry tone of voice.

"In fact," Mel took over, "Lore was such a disturbed and fucked-up psycho-android that his own brother, Data, deactivated him after his last effort to obliterate the entire human race."

"His bits and pieces were shipped off to the Daystroms Institute." Mallennie went on, "And the last that was heard of him was that Commander Maddox had his head buried in the positronic perpetrator's guts."

"Maddox." Chakotay mused aloud, "Wasn't he the guy who wanted to take Data apart?"

Lt. Mallennie nodded.  
"Indeed. He once got permission to decommission Data in order to dismantle him, figure out what made him tick and then manufacture more androids to match the prototype."

"Yet, old Picard really didn't like the smell of that - and neither did the android," Mel said, "So instead of getting his toy, Maddox got a ruling thrown in his face that said he couldn't take apart sentient beings without their consent."

"But it was okay with Lore?" Betak said, asking a very relevant question.

"No. The idea was to disassemble him and thus deactivate him permanently, not..." Mallennie stopped, realising the implication of the discussion.  
As did everybody. The room was perfectly silent for at least 20 seconds. In fact, the proverbial pin could have been dropped and it would have made the red alert klaxon go off completely by itself.  
Then Mel sat down and flung her legs onto the table again.  
She sighed.

Chakotay thought he had never heard such a gentle and profound sigh. It contained all his captain's hope for a swift, easy solution going down the drain, and it contained all the sympathy for whomever would be injured or possibly die during the process of this increasingly difficult operation soon to come.

"Well, there's the rub, gentlemen- and women." She said, illustrating her words accordingly by rubbing her own forehead.  
"We now face the distinct possibility that Maddox has gone a little beyond his authorisation and started experimenting with a potentially dangerous and alarmingly sociopathic android, who suffers from a case of bad potty training and consequently several loose screws. Starfleet might not know this. Maddox could be holding his tongue or his breath eternally, probably, if Lore had anything to say about that. Or Starfleet knows and is unwilling to share the somewhat embarrassing news with anyone - can't say I really blame them, come to that."

She leaned forward and rested her arms on the table's surface, clasping her hands.

"If that is the case, we need to come up with some weapons that can neutralise a cybernetic entity like Lore. Mallennie - conjure up the schematics of Lore if we have them, or Data's if we don't - coordinate it with Masomo. Myth, work your magic touch with the research computer and dig out what you can on Commander Maddox. T'Rees, find out about Lore's medical and mental history - all sleazy details, if you please."

Everybody got to work immediately and the captain turned to her new first officer.  
"Commander - we better adjust the operations plans accordingly."  
He nodded, "An all nighter?"  
"Could be - fill up your herbal tea jug."

*

  
  


Ten hours, ten cups of coffee and three jugs of herbal tea later the final OPS plan was complete with only few additions and alterations.

As it had turned out the original plan was basically sound, android or no android; what they needed to do was adjusting the details, such as weapons and number of men in the groups, which were now down to six men per group since guile, not brute force, was the only factor that could bring Lore down should weaponry be insufficient. Aliens with special brain waves were selected according to their capability to withstand theta emissions, gamma radiation and what else one might expect from a fully functional silicon being with the ability to turn himself into a living bomb. Computer programming experts were added to the groups in the hope that they may be able to somehow diffuse the rampant robot before he could do any harm to carbon-based beings. Dr Soong's voice was found in Starfleet archives and re-recorded with several fitting commands in case that might have any influence on his prodigal off-spring.

Both the captain and the first officer of the _Chief Cochise _tried to think of any eventuality that might arise in dealing with such an unstable and unpredictable factor as Lore, the infamous 'evil twin' of Lt. Comdr. Data, of whom the only certain thing which could be said was that he was a royal troublemaker with an ego and mentality of Attila the Hun.

Mel snarled, "I'll never, for the death of me, understand why they didn't destroy the sucker after the situation with the Hugh Borg and his indecisive fellow Borgs. Haven't we learned from fucking history?"

"History?" Chakotay was tired and didn't quite follow his energetic superior officer or even start at her use of extreme and ancient profanity.

"Yeah, history. A dictator that takes advantage of a people in crisis. God, how often have we seen that?"

The Native American rubbed his aching eyes. "Yes, you're right. But it seems that it is the indisputable and sad destiny of man that there are some things that he never learns."

"Well, that's certainly one of them." Mel mumbled, agitated. Chakotay had already noticed this about her; that she mumbled when she was really pissed and upset. He smiled and wondered how many of her crewmembers had seen that.

"You're smiling." Mel remarked, "God, you must be tired if you're smiling at something like that."

"That wasn't what I was smiling at, but yes, you're right: I am tired. And so are you, I suspect. Should we call it a day?"

Mel looked askance at the time indicator.  
"A night, more likely. No, I'm not tired, but you are excused - frankly you look as if you could do with some beauty sleep."

Chakotay opened his mouth in surprise but clamped it shut again at the sight of her face.  
"Don't even go there." She warned him with a scary smile.

He grinned and rose from her comfy chair where he had been sitting for the past three hours. She had had no qualms about letting him into her den. In fact, she never had any scruples about letting anyone into her private quarters. So unlike Kathryn.  
_I have got to stop comparing her to Kathryn_, he decided as he took his leave from her.

Mel remained standing in her quarters, gazing out of the window, ostensibly lost in the romantic moment of the fleeting stars passing by her ship with such devastatingly beautiful speed and grace. Her arms were crossed just beneath her bosom in a relaxed position, and only people who knew her intimately would have guessed that her mind was still reeling on the operational problem at hand.

It all came down to... their adversary. Know your opponent.

_How does one crawl into the sick and depraved circuits of a malfunctioning android and identify what makes him tick and why?_

Mel Dayton squinted her narrow, intense eyes and let them shower the stars with her amber dust.  
  


... and he squinted his amber eyes and studied the prey sitting on the ground in front of him.  
The woman had stopped screaming, but she was still shivering, panic obviously taking hold of every pore in her body as the need to be able to see started to grate her already shredded nerves.  
Her lavender blotched skin had attained a more purple shine, which was a clear indication that she was dancing perilously close to the edge of shock.

He also knew, of course, that Sigmarian hearing was more acute than that of both Vulcans and canines, and that every sound he made must seem like an indefinable thunderstorm to her. In addition, Sigmarians' ocular brain centre was closely connected to the three-lobed audio centres, which meant that simultaneous sensory input from both organs was vital for the Sigmarian mind to stay sane.

The amber-eyed person didn't believe that this Sigmarian would manage to stay sane for very long still.  
An eerie grin began to spread over his facial structure slowly, very slowly, like a dance macabre feeding on itself, and almost ended up at his ears. Yet it never made it to his eyes. Those disconcerting, light amber eyes. The smile parted his lips and revealed a row of white, unnaturally wholesome teeth that flashed pearly and mockingly at the alien woman, who couldn't see who was doing this to her or what was being done to her. But she could hear the smile. She heard the smile without knowing what it was, without being able to make the connection between sensory impression and facts.

The Sigmarian senator's shivers increased.

Lore sniggered.  
  


Weapons specialist, Lieutenant Commander Arg, crossed his trunky arms, tilted his head and studied the odd couple who were currently entering the ship's armoury. He knew both of them, of course; he had been introduced to the new first officer, Commander Chakotay of whom the rumour said that he had survived and returned from the Delta Quadrant, and he knew and did his best to avoid T'Rees, the ship's doctor. He didn't much care for Vulcans. They were cold and passionless and they regarded an exhilarating fight and a good death as "illogical" events. He growled. Though he acknowledged T'Rees as a Kahless damn brilliant physician, he didn't care much for being in her presence. Doctors mended the weak. A weak Klingon was dishonourable.

Arg's reaction to their entrance, therefore, was less than courteous or welcoming.

"****Whadda ye' want?" he roared.

Chakotay, being used to B'Elanna's behaviour, didn't move a muscle and T'Rees remained equally unfazed, presenting the fierce Klingon with a PADD.

"Three groups of six men and one platoon leader need weapons that can pacify a being of the following specifications." She stated, being as Vulcan as he was Klingon.

He snarled and read the proffered information. Then he snarled louder.  
"You dare ask me for weapons that can take out an ANDROID??"

Chakotay saw his break, feeling quite at home in front of a roaring alien with a heavy brow.  
"Of course, if you think it's above your level of efficiency..."

"****WHAT!!!!!"

The roar was worthy of Rosie. Furious, the Klingon hauled the PADD away and started selecting and modifying weapons in a blinding speed.  
Both T'Rees and the commander stepped aside to seek shelter from the flying and sometimes unidentified objects.

"If I may," the doctor muttered discreetly, "it is gratifying to realise that you have obviously handled Klingons before."

Chakotay grinned and nodded and was then handed an odd object by the CMO.

"There is a distinct possibility that you have not encountered this device before." T'Rees concluded.

"Your surmise is correct." He smiled and turned the small, flesh coloured apparatus of fibre plastic in his palm.

"In dealings like these, our combat groups are usually equipped with a communication device other than Starfleet's usual combadge. These were manufactured several centuries ago on Earth and function as an interpreter of sound waves through the jaw."

"??? Come again?"

"When we speak, sound waves leave our mouth, but they also go through our facial bone structure. By using these ear pieces, you block out any white interference noise from your surroundings. Another positive side-effect is that your surroundings will not be able to receive signals emitted from the device either. In short, it is an ideal communicator for covert operations."  
Chakotay smirked and put the ear piece in his right ear.

"But there is nothing covert about any of this." He quoted the bulletins about FMOPS.

T'Rees' face was stone. Nothing surprising in that. Instead she presented him for another piece of - to him - unknown equipment while the agitated Klingon behind them was still throwing around phasers, gamma cannons, Klingon disruptors, Romulan displacers etc.

Time was running short. Preparations coming to an end. Loose ends being picked up. Mel was on her hasty way to the dreaded mess hall when her busy path was intercepted by Myth and Mallennie, who both caught her with a surgeon's precision of trained army personnel who knew their speedy captain to the letter.

"Talk to me." She demanded as she strode through the mess hall door without slowing down even one nano second.

"I have downloaded Lore's schematics. He has one weak point that I suggest we access and study ASAP. T'Rees has put Arg on the job of figuring out a weapon that can penetrate his thoracic chest plate and duranium skull."

"Good. Myth."

"Your hunch about Maddox was correct. He has been missing for the past three months, the circumstances of his disappearance has been covered up by Starfleet."

Mel swore soundly. She hated it when her own employer worked against its employees. Politics. The dirtiest word in her vocabulary. She sensed that Myth had stopped and bid him continue with a side glance.

"I have been in contact with one of our 'consultants' on Sigma 5. He has succeeded in digging up a complete plan over the old sewer tunnel system underneath the Parliament building."

Mel took the PADD out of his hand and fastforwarded the file. Then something obviously caught her attention; she rewound it and stopped to scrutinise the excerpt. Mallennie and Myth stood next to her, holding their breath and then saw their captain widen her golden eyes.  
The captain handed back the PADD, smiled, grabbed Myth's approximation of a head in both her hands and kissed him soundly.

This was nothing new to Myth. She did this every time a crewman had done something outstanding at a time when she was at a rope's end. She did it every time somebody saved the day. He should be used to it by now for Myth had saved the day more than once. And still his imaginary chest swelled with pride, his non-existent cheeks blushed becomingly and his copy of a human mouth quivered in delight.

Because he loved it every time she did it.

They all did.

A big bulk was shading the threesome, and both Mallennie and Myth couldn't deny that they felt rather chilly all of a sudden.  
"**Somebody was clever?**" Rosie boomed. Mel looked at her with complete lack of fear, but with sound respect.

"You betcha." She winked, ordered a synthehol margarita for herself and happiness for Myth and the rest of her crew.

Rosie sighed; even a sigh from her was an awesome sight and somewhat intimidating. Her enormous body bounced, her fat shivered worse than the Ape's engines when he crawled on them and her eyes looked comically expressive. Yet, no one would ever dare to laugh at the sight. Mel's crew were survivors.

"The margarita I can provide - as for happiness.... have you cleaned your hands?" she suddenly added suspiciously. Rosie respected her captain highly, but she didn't treat her any differently from the others.

Mel held her hands out for inspection as did the Bajoran and shapeshifter faster than warp 9.

The big mama grunted with satisfaction and retreated to carry out the captain's orders. Clean customers were serviced. Unclean were dead.  


Commander Chakotay had witnessed it all from a table he shared with Masomo. The Tanzanian was crouching over the small table taking up so much space above the table surface that there was no room left for Chakotay's plate. Instead the commander had placed the dish in his lap, hoping to god that he would managed to balance it well enough to keep it there.

Apparently the enormous security officer had not noticed the scene between his captain and Rosie. He was busy eating a ton of food that he simply kept shovelling into his mouth with a speed of 35 Mb per second. Not that he was fat. Masomo Rwani was well over two meters tall and somewhat broad, however, one would never describe him as 'fat' or even 'overweight'. Lt. Rwani was simply a larger version of a well-trained security officer whose massive body stood in stark contrast to his kind and gentle demeanour. He didn't seem the slightest intimidating with his big, warm brown eyes, his soft round cheeks and his soft smile, and Chakotay couldn't deny that he felt a trifle sceptical as to the man's ability to impress prospective opponents. Even as he ate - despite the impressive rate of eating speed and amount - he looked just as cuddly and loveable as a cute teddy bear. Hugable and personable.  
Chakotay inwardly shook his head in wonder. How could this man ever scare off anybody?

"Did you see that?" he asked his table mate, "the captain isn't the least afraid of Rosie."

"Of course not," Rwani said through kilos of half chewed food, "Nothing fazes the cap. She's tougher than anybody I know."

The first officer blinked. His respect for Mel Dayton was already high on the scale, but he wouldn't say that she was the toughest person he had ever met. Clearly Masomo knew something he didn't - or had a different range of acquaintances.

"What would you say is the worst situation you and the cap have been involved in?"

But the CSO shook his head energetically, miraculously keeping half a shuffle full of food in his mouth in the process.

"It doesn't work like that. Every operation is its own. Nothing ever goes according to plan, and she damn well knows that. We all do. No OP is easy, no OP is smooth. There's always the unexpected factor that you can't predict no matter how bloody hard you try. But that's her skill. That's the cap's strong point. She is able to take a hopeless situation, find some unbelievable solution and turn total disaster into complete victory. She saves our butts every god damn time, man."

Chakotay almost smiled. That description was so close to Kathryn's CV that he allowed himself to complete the thought despite his inward promise to himself that he would stop comparing the two female captains to each other.  
He rose and excused himself. The OP was getting awfully close and he wanted to be prepared - in spite of the grim facts about FMOPS capers that Masomo Rwani had just laid out for him.  
At least he would then be able to say to himself afterwards: I did what I could. I tried to foresee any eventuality.

Wasn't that what everyone did after all?

Why, then, did he have an unpleasant and ominous feeling that it was not the right thing to focus on?

*

  
  


Sigma 5 was probably the whitest and ghostliest planet Chakotay had ever seen. To a layman it appeared to be covered in snow and/or ice, but to a planetary expert it was clear that the planet was surrounded by a milky white nebula, and if one looked hard, it was actually possible to spot the nebula move in close orbit round the planet very, very slowly.  
The sight of the planet increasing in size mesmerised the Native American to the point that he almost forgot to activate the ship's cloaking device.  
He smiled as he punched the controls. You could have knocked him over with a feather when the cap told him about the ship's Klingon characteristics. Arg had seen to the addition and instalment of this particular piece of technology and the Ape was keeping a keen eye on it, making damn sure it didn't overload the system.

"Cloaking device enabled." Mallennie's voice droned.

"Acknowledged." Mel said quietly, as if being so close to their goal required silence on the bridge. The captain rose, studied the sight in front of her for a little while before she turned and nodded at her first officer.

Chakotay nodded back and disappeared without a word. Everything that needed saying had been said. The proverbial dice was rolling. The OPS had begun.  


Two minutes after the commander had left the bridge, Myth silently entered the place, discreet as a shadow as was his way.  
Mel didn't even turn. She knew this man so well that she could sense the emanations of his special, silicone molecular compound and thus conclude his presence.

"Keep me posted constantly." She said. She felt him nod. He knew exactly what she expected of him. Continuous surveillance of all three away teams.  
  


"Keep me posted constantly." The voice hissed.

The voice that Senator Illara Ki Hal L'Lanna had come to fear, hate and long for. She feared it because every sound meant darkness and mayhem to her as her vision was temporarily impaired; she hated it because it provoked horrifying images inside her mind; she longed for it because sound had been her only connection to her surrounding world since her captor had removed her ability to see.

Sigmarians had neither tactile nor olfactory sense. Instead they were completely dependent on the collaboration between their eyes and ears to make up for the tactile and olfactory impressions many other species enjoyed. Illara Ki had never thought about that difference - until now. Until some heartless being had taken her by force and blindfolded her she had never given her species' limitations another thought. It was just different, and that was all.  
Now, however, she couldn't help beating herself with the same contemplation again and again and again: how much easier would it have been had she been a Vulcan, a Romulan, Klingon, Deltan, Saurian or Human?

She heard his voice again.

"You understand that negligence to my orders will result in extreme repercussion?"

If at all possible, her shivers increased. And she understood.  
It hadn't mattered what species she had been instead of Sigmarian; this cruel creature would have impaired her in any way possible regardless of her nature and senses. He would have found a way to make her exactly as terrified as she was at this point, had she been a specimen of one of the most superior species in the universe.

Senator Illara Ki Hal L'Lanna, Master of Piin's order and second peer of the Parliament, managed to find some comfort in that, and she realised that she would probably stay sane for a little while yet.  
Stay sane some while yet.  
Stay sane until somebody came and got her.  
Stay sane until she was res...  
Stay sane...  
Stay sa...  
Stay...  
S...

*

  
  


Commander Chakotay took a deep breath and looked around him. He didn't understand why he felt apprehensive. He had used the last four hours to familiarise himself with his group, in fact, with the entire platoon; the ensigns, their squad leaders, their skills, special training, particular abilities, personalities and background. He came well-prepared; there was no reason to feel even the slightest bit of anxiety.

Yet he did.

_Just like the old times, eh, old man?_

If he closed his eyes he could almost hear B'Elanna's firm and melodious voice utter those familiar words.  
And it was like the old times. Like the hundreds of times he had headed numerous risky capers, hopeless assignments and complicated Ops as an angry warrior Maquis against the raging tides of Cardassian suppression. Anxiety was part of that, as he bloody well knew.  
The inevitable risk, the dangerous liaisons, the eternal fear, the boundless sorrow, the hard surface crackling with fragile vulnerability. Why, then, did he feel that there was this little extra twist to it this time?  
First night opening jitters. He concluded.

The shuttle that he and his alpha team were aboard performed a graceful eclipse and started to shimmer delicately as it slowed down to complete the trip with a discreet landing. Chakotay smirked in stark self-irony. The captain had read his shuttle-CV and had consequently insisted that Eclatar pre-programme the shuttle to pilot automatically without her first officer as much as stepping near the controls. And she must have squealed too, he decided. Every time he had approached the control panel, a big awe-inspiring biceps had gently, but firmly blocked his way, its owner wearing a polite, yet unmistakable facial expression. It translated something in the lieu of sorry, Sir. But we would like to stay alive at least until we reach our destination.  
Chakotay's smirk was now a grin. Yes, he felt sure that she must have "leaked".

The shuttlecrafts of the _Chief_ were much smaller and much sleeker than the regular Starfleet shuttles. Their hull glistened with a peculiar sheen that made them almost blend in with their background: space. In other words, it was the second best thing to a cloaking device. Of course, their only function was to transport crewmembers to and fro their landing location, which was why the interior of the shuttles was as sparse as a Scotsman's home. Panels with only the absolutely necessary controls for transports of short distances were designed in stylistically clean lines to accommodate any cargo that might be included in the transport. Seats of indefinable colours were built into the massive bulkhead and were equipped with solid black belts of titanium, designed to keep the passengers fixed and safe during a rough ride.

Two other shuttles were out there, carrying team Bravo and Charlie under codenames of "Underdog" and "Maggot".  
Chakotay's own team had been christened "Chief Bully". Spirits knew who had come up with those designations.  
The shuttle swayed gently as it adjusted its angle for landing, and the big Native American, somewhat strung and tuned in on his men's emotional state, keenly felt how the atmosphere in the craft tensed slightly.  
So they felt it too.

*

  
  


She put down her tea mug on the table, faintly wondering why the designers of her ship hadn't managed to match the blue colours of the kitchenware. The blue plate next to her mug was definitely at odd with the colour of the mug. Of course, somehow the principle matched the rest of the ship where nothing matched anything, the _Chief_ being a DIY project jumble as it was.

Mel Dayton pouted her lips, reflecting on the fact that she always noticed small inconsequential details like these right after she had sent her men on their way. From now on, all she could do was trying to think one or more steps ahead of their and the opponents. She was their final back-up. It was her responsibility to send them to Hell and haul their arses back again into the bosom of Rosie, their mother.  
She chuckled. She wasn't sure if some of them didn't prefer Hell.

"What are you sniggering at?"

Mel raised her amber eyes and locked them with Myth's hazel ones.  
"You don't want to know."

Myth smiled his gentle smile without taking his hands off the sensory input controls that enabled him to feel every move, heartbeat and breath of every member of the three teams.

Mel straightened and drained her mug despite the fact that her tea had turned very, very cold. It was always a tad uncanny seeing Myth, her good friend, wrapped up in that odd device that they had once obtained by bargaining with the Ferengi. The deal had ended up with Mel and her crew being one of the very few people - if not the only people who had managed to con a Ferengi business man: they got the sensory monitor and the Ferengi got a tribble.  
She chuckled again. The havoc those tribbles had caused...

"Now what?" Myth wanted to know.

"Tribbles." The captain giggled.

Myth rewarded her with a seldom shown big grin... and then he suddenly stiffened and turned focused as in a trance. Mel saw his hands tremble slightly and knew what it meant.

"Contact. They have landed."  
  


On to to ****[Part 4][1]  


**[E-mail][2]** me and let me know how you like it. :)

   [1]: ChiefCochise4.html
   [2]: mailto:hyperhenry@get2net.dk



	4. The Chief Cochise, chapter 4

Henriette's Art and Fiction - The Chief Cochise 4

**The Chief Cochise**  


**_Part 4_**

"You know, Sir, if you turned on your IR, you wouldn't bump into us all the time."  
Jungjohann, a small wiry German woman with an affable demeanour, smiled at Chakotay in the dark night - as far as the commander could see.

And true enough, the very alien equipment did present Chakotay with some problems. The special Antarian IR lenses, placed directly on his eyeballs and allowing him to see in the dark, were no doubt a stroke of genius; that is, if one could figure out how to use them.

The big bronze man adjusted his wrist piece that allegedly sent signals to the lenses in order to make them work accordingly. But nothing happened.

"Just my luck to get some damaged goods." He murmured good-naturely.  
Jungjohann grinned, - and now Chakotay could easily see her white teeth flash like a 100 watt electric bulb - and took the equipment from him.  
"These things are usually very easy to fix." She stated and bashed the wrist device into a nearby stone with cheerful determination. Chakotay almost jumped at the cracking sound, but then suddenly the world became clear to him. Jungjohann's "repairs" had worked like a charm.  
"Right. Now that you can see, Sir. What way?"

The first officer didn't need to consult his electronic map. He had memorised all the possible paths going to the Parliament and chosen the one least conspicuous. Although his team was the decoy, he suspected that underestimating Lore's deductive abilities would be the worst idea of the millennium.  
After reminding his men that light and sound discipline was hereby activated, Commander Chakotay began leading the combat group in the direction selected by Mel and himself. He drew a silent but deep breath. It felt good to be in the field again.

About ten miles from Chakotay's operation point, Sergeant Jonesy took a good deep breath before he lowered himself into the foul remains of a once highly famed underground disposal system. The majority of his group was already there, waiting eagerly for their commanding officer to join them in their charming and aromatic heaven, contrary to the two remaining scouts who had no hurry in joining their fellow GI's.

Jonesy's group consisted mostly of small individuals who would have no problem squeezing their bodies through the more inaccessible parts of the tunnels. One exception was the Antarian, Delaan, who was their FMOPS agent on the planet and whose impressive height and size, compliments to his species, did not allow him to crawl the sewers together with the rest of the group. He would join them at junction B5H1 and secure their entrance and their exit in the basement of the Parliament.  
Jonesy hailed the group's only Horta, Lonc, and gave her last minute instructions.

"Listen, sweetie," he whispered intently, "You know your job, I don't have to tell you how to drill out a tunnel. I just want you to bear in mind that the android might have left some 'surprises' here and there, so you should let us scan the area before you start your drilling."  
The Horta nodded. Such a psychedelic sight to see half a ton of stone move its upper part up and down while gravel and pebbles ran down its surface. Lonc had picked up the nodding from her human colleagues, but Jonesy wasn't sure he cared much for the slightly unnerving effect.  
Jonesy squared his crouched shoulders to the extent that the tunnels permitted him. He wrinkled his hawk like nose, shook his thick dark hair and spit out his toothpick.  
It was time to save the damsel in distress and kick some serious robot arse.  


Sgt. Justine Hildegard chuckled when she heard Jonesy tell the Horta to steer clear of booby traps.  
"She knows that. He's just saying that to have something to say. He's got a bloody thing for her, that's for sure."  
Her group chuckled with her. They had dug themselves down behind some ruins from which they could hear everything team "Maggots" were doing as was their assignment, fully equipped with listening devices. The plan was to give the team a head start of ten minutes and then keep track of them by entering another sewer entrance. Hildegard and her group would be the Maggots' shadow and make damn sure that they would be in the vicinity should things suddenly become very uncomfortable for the unfortunate Maggots.

The sergeant chortled. So very fitting to call the team "Maggots". They were the ones entering the lion's cave directly whereas "Underdog" - her group - were guardian angels and "Chief Bully" simply a decoy. Her corporal had a pool going, she knew. At every OPS people would wonder who had come up with the team names and the crew would have a pool going. How the hell the organisers found out the truth, god only knew. This time she had guessed Mallennie as the inventive baptist. It sure sounded like her twisted humour.

"Ten minutes." Corporal Ayoll Cox, a short Trill with spots running down his nose, reminded her. She nodded and initiated light and sound discipline with a raised hand. Her group immediately fell dead silent.  
_God damn it_, she thought proudly, _I can't even hear them fucking breathing._

*

Some might have felt that seeing Myth in his current state was the most eerie and uncanny phenomenon they had ever seen. Some might have felt that a sight like that was unnatural and unwholesome. Some might even agree that it was less than human.  
They couldn't have been more right.

Yet, Myth's silicone composition was the perfect control unit for the alien device that he had plugged himself into. Without being able to actually see it, Mel knew that he hadn't just put his hands on the controls; in effect, he had let tendrils reach into the machine components and was now receiving the teams' bio-signals into his body directly, which enabled him to read and interpret all their life functions, using his long experience with organic species.  
Mel had long stopped feeling spooked at the sight, despite the way her friend's eyes became vacant, his mouth distorted and his features blurred. She knew that his human shape was all an illusion and that he simply had problems maintaining the form while concentrating on the device.

She decided to make it easy for him.

"You don't have to keep your human shape in front of me, Myth." She said in a factual tone. She knew this to be a cause for embarrassment for shape shifters. He didn't react. So she changed tactics, knowing her man to the letter, an ability that made her the leader she was.  
"Don't worry - I will respect you in the morning."  
She saw a shadow of a smirk on his imaginary mouth before his shape finally melted to nothing more than a blob at a console. The shiny mass of silicone and water glimmered like silver in the chair and on the console surface where Myth's tendrils were still firmly imbedded in the machine. _Good_, Mel thought. But she still needed to communicate with him. As intently as she knew him, he knew her. A soft voice boomed out of the computer's com system:

"Way ahead of you, Cap."  
Mel grinned, teeth flashing with a vengeance.  
"As always, Myth, as always."  
"Maggots has penetrated first perimeter, Underdog is trailing and watching their backs. Chief Bully has chosen route B5 and is currently at coordinates 23.4.567. All in good health. Jonesy's heart rate is little high."  
"That's Lonc. He has a thing for her." Mel chuckled gently.  
"What do you think of B5?" Myth asked his captain curiously.  
She shrugged. "I wouldn't have chosen that route. It's safe, all right, but it's also somewhat more difficult to keep an eye on the other teams from that route. But I'm sure that Commander Chakotay has his reasons."

Myth offered no comments. Mel was giving Chakotay the benefit of doubt as always with subordinates she hadn't quite come to know yet, and the shape shifter appreciated that. He also knew that the ability to see a case from all its possible angles was a definite must in Mel's job. Without it, she wouldn't have been heading one of the most prestigious and complex crews in Starfleet.

*

As it was, Chakotay did have a reason for picking B5. His (and Mel's) first choice had been B3, a less direct path but more open in regard to communication. However, when he arrived there with his team, a massive cave-in blocked the route to the extent that the first officer believed it too time- and strength consuming to start clearing it.  
Route B5 was a little more shielded from communication. This might give him problems getting in touch with the rest of his platoon. This possible consequence, however, also meant that the opponent would have equal difficulty discovering their communicative activity.

Chakotay raised his right arm and signalled the group to stop. It was time for the one and only contact he would have with his other teams during the entire operation.  
Jungjohann, knowing exactly what the halt was about, crept closer to her commanding officer to receive further orders.  
"Sergeant, secure the perimeter and hook me on." The first officer whispered intently to his squad leader.

Jungjohann nodded, signalled her men and turned back to Chakotay to handle the hook-up.  
The trick was to remain undiscovered in exchanging information. The solution was simple. Jungjohann simply connected their com system to any available communication wave and piggybacked their signal. Since a very lively traffic of communication was nearly cluttering the atmosphere, Jungjohann managed to hook on in a matter of seconds. After a few moments of concentrated work, she nodded her CMO a go for open link.

Chakotay nodded back, his eyes conveying respect. These were good, capable people.  
"All hands, this is Chief Bully papa. I repeat, all hands, this is Chief Bully papa. Prepare for report, over."

The responses came in surprisingly fast. Evidently everybody was on their posts, had already plugged in and were waiting for him, quickly and efficiently. Chakotay's respect for the _Chief Cochise_ and its crew continued to grow every minute.  
"Chief Bully papa, this is Underdog papa.... we are go for reports, over."  
"Chief Bully papa, this is Maggots papa... ready when you are, over."

In the ship above them, the shiny silver blob in the chair shivered indiscernibly and a soft voice reached and almost caressed Mel's attentive ears.  
"Pulses slow and relaxed, brain activity up and going. They are ceasing to report."  
"First and only contact before show-down." Mel murmured into her coffee mug.  
"Jonesy's pheromones are up."  
"Gotta separate those two." Mel murmured on. Myth's liquid body shook a tad as if laughing gently. He knew to whom she was referring.  
"They are getting up. There is go for final stage."  
Mel bit her nail. There was something she didn't like. Myth recognised the symptoms immediately; the captain's intuition was working overtime.  
__She is going to get up, pace, drink cold coffee, replace it with cold tea, stare out the view port, lock pondering eyes with some ensign and then she is going to call in the big guns.

And she did all of that, except locking eyes with an ensign since there was no ensign present in the room, which was occupied by her and Myth only. In the end she did punch a control button and barked at Mallennie:  
"Mallennie, have Ape run a radiation and magnetic waves diagnostic, ask T'Rees to use the imagination she doesn't have to come up with any possible radiation, magnetic or any other kind of pulse or waves that the android might be able to generate or monitor and then get all your hineys into the conference room."  
"Acknowledged." The Bajoran said without surprise, knowing her captain in and out. At some point in almost every operation, their CMO would get a hunch and act on it. Usually it paid off, the crew of the _Chief Cochise_ had learnt to respect their captain's hunches.

Mel turned to Myth while she installed an ear com device in her own ear.  
"I'm gonna do some research myself. Keep me posted at all time, Myth - go to CEDS."  
Myth complied immediately. CEDS was Communication Ear Device System, which meant that Mel was going covert big time. Obviously something had occurred to her about the ship's security integrity.  
Myth didn't have energy or concentration left for concern. That was one of the advantages of being hooked up to an all-strength consuming alien device, he thought wryly.

Sweat ran down Jonesy's forehead, tickled his eyelids, stung his eye sockets and tasted salty as it reached his mouth. Having a Horta in a tunnel group was worth gold but bloody hot. Heat was being generated whenever the Horta drilled and ate the stone it penetrated with its impressive devouring fluids. Heat enough to fill the tunnels and cover the group in a blanket of moist and steam. Fortunately it wasn't very visible, but it sure could be felt by all parties involved.  
The live rock in front of him suddenly stopped and shook its massive body delicately.  
"Lonc?" Jonesy said quietly with his jaw, transmitting the movements of his speech to the Horta's communication device.  
"We have reached junction B5H1." Her voice sang back to him with astounding gentleness.  
"Then where the hell is Delaan?" the sergeant asked her and the rest of his group.

_Delaan is delayed_, Myth said to his captain through CEDS. Mel didn't even move an eyebrow. She was assembled with her commanding officers in an intense discussion about all kinds of waves and pulses. Yet she never hesitated.  
"I'm coming in." She murmured back into her ear piece and left the meeting with an order for the remaining officers to stay put.  
Even before Mel Dayton entered the control room, even before she stated her request, Myth knew what she had in mind, and he feared it as much as he longed for it.

"I need to go in." She said curtly, waiting for an answer that she knew what would be.  
"Go ahead", Myth said. Did his voice tremble? They had done this before. Had she heard his voice tremble?

Mel resolutely stepped over to his glistening body at the console, bared her right arm to the elbow and dug it deep into Myth's shining mass of entity. The gelatinous bulk shivered, then stilled and then seemed to float.  
Mel felt a sweet tinkling as evidence that her friend had now succeeded in connecting her to his own neural net and thus the machine. She gasped at the overwhelming sensation and tears started forming in her eyes in nobility of pride and fierce concentration.  
__Myth.  
__You're on. Go ahead.  
She knew that this was as far as he could take her; she would have to go the last distance herself. So she tried to block out the enormity of his thoughts and mind and to concentrate on her ear piece instead. It was hard, oh, so hard. But her group was in danger and she had to do her damnedest to reach them.  
__Jonesy.

Jonesy almost sat upright in the narrow tunnel, nearly banging his helmet into the rock ceiling above them. Was this their cap speaking to him, or was he finally losing it?  
Mel caught her breath. She was through to Jonesy via her ear device and via Myth and his machine.  
__Jonesy, if Delaan is not there at the appointed time, something is wrong. I want you to make a rat hole and stay put. If I do not contact you within one hour, use your own judgement.  
The sergeant heard the desperation in her otherwise calm and reserved voice and knew that their situation was critical. The sweat that was now forming on his brow was no longer caused by a rock eating alien, but by pure, undiluted fear that he welcomed heartily like a long lost friend.

Mel now tried to reach the other groups to let them in on the latest development. Time was of the essence and her concentration as well as Myth's strength was fading.

Then suddenly the connection was brutally severed. In fact, the discontinuation was so abrupt and painful that it made Mel stagger backwards with shock, her mouth open in a silent scream at the abuse and maltreatment of her shredded neural pathways. Fighting his own crisis, Myth reached out for her, his silicone mass converting itself into something tangible in the process and grabbed her just before she hit the floor. Their tactile contact shocked Mel back to reality and onto a chair. A stunned Myth was still holding her hand while she was fighting to regain her breath.

"What happened?"  
Captain Dayton looked up to see Myth in his human shape again and now disconnected from the device. His face was oddly drawn and his eyes looked haunted with both trauma from the experience and concern for his captain. She hadn't been the only one who had suffered from the sudden and curt disruption.  
Mel opened her mouth and was surprised to find that she actually had some voice left.  
"I believe that was our first contact with Lore."

*

Yellow eyes squinted and a pale head with dark brown hair as a stark and ironic contrast was cocked. A disturbingly gentle sigh left quivering, colourless lips and slim fingers strong as steel flexed and then relaxed.  
It was all coming together. They were coming. And with a little luck his dear brother was there as well. He smirked and the lips lost their sensitive character. He smiled and the quality of the mouth now became feral. Quite close to him something moved and a rustling sound reached his fine tuned ears.

So she was still with them. Almost. The android giggled with a sound that would have made the fine hair stand on the toughest FMOPS soldier. To a Sigmarian the sound was pure dripping evil, promising the hostage a living hell.  
Lore stopped giggling and looked a little more closely at the fragile senator, appraising her state of mind and body. She was strong. Strong for a Sigmarian. Lore smiled happily like a boy who has just spotted his favourite candy. Time for an experiment. He kneeled and the simple action made the hostage shiver almost uncontrollably. The android leaned forward and started hushing the terrified woman with the most gentle and caring voice and intonation that his sick programming could muster.

"Hush... shhhh... relax. Everything will be fine. I'm not going to hurt you. There... hush, dearest. You're safe... nothing to fear... nothing to be afraid of."

And he reached out to stroke her dark marine coloured hair with its rich texture and lavender scent. He knew that she couldn't feel it, having no tactile sense whatsoever. But her hearing was marvellous, so she compensated for her lack of tactility by hearing the caress so clearly that it almost made it a touch. He continued hushing and stroking her.  
Yet her shivers didn't appease, on the contrary... they increased. Lore smiled his eerie smile. Astounding, how organic beings could still sense intent despite contradictory actions. Would that mean that the theorem was valid the other way round?

The Sigmarian senator suddenly felt her head being yanked backwards. Though she could not feel the pain, she could certainly tell when her movements had become brutal by the aide of a second party. And then there was his voice... so close to her three lobed ear that she nearly forgot to breathe.  
"No, I am not going to hurt you. You are going to hurt yourself. Let me outline the idea for you..." the voice hissed, saturated with twisted malice and sociopathic joy.

And he outlined it in details, enjoying every comma of his own style and linguistics. He was good.  
The Sigmarian woman collapsed by his feet, her brain closing down, not being able to process the massive sensory data of violence and viciousness her system was being fed with despite her inability to comprehend the words.

The android rose adroitly with a satisfied leer on his artificial face. He would have her later, of course, when she was awake, seeing and fully conscious to sense what he was doing to her. He had never had a senator.

As for now, things had to be done, plans had to be initiated, traps put out.... enemies killed. Through the net of neural emitters he had laid out to cover the sixth satellite, he had felt a touch of their adversary directly in his own neural pathways; someone who was trying to contact the men that were crawling all over the sewers. The sensation had filled him with joy and hunger; his old friends were there for him - touching, touching; hopefully bringing his dear brother with them. Of course, he would be there. Data had always been the humans' prawn.

Lore turned to one of his companions, who was standing at a computer console that looked advanced enough to put the Enterprise's bridge to shame.  
"Patrio - report!"  
"They have reached junction H4B5... after taking the path we manipulated them into choosing."  
The android's smug smirk broadened.  
"Of course, they did." He said.  
"They have no choice when the puppeteer pulls the strings."

*

Ignorant of the drama aboard the _Chief_, of the missing Antarian and of Lore's actions and plans, Chakotay still made steady and safe progress through the tunnel that would lead them directly to a backdoor into the Parliament.  
The diversion had been planned to the smallest detail; safety was the keyword where his men was concerned.  
When the group stopped at junction H4B5, Chakotay took time to sit down with Jungjohann and her men to discuss their further progress. The big Native American regarded the smaller German as she sat down; her sinuous limbs revealed no fatigue or strain as she crossed her legs and sat down, ready as a spring to pop up and do her job. Her black uniform was jumbled and dirty, but not one hair had escaped her helmet for the simple reason that all the women in the special troops had cut their hair painfully short.

Chakotay blew away one escaping lock of jet black hair of his own. Well, it was definitely time to cut this mane as well - and stop dying it, come to think of it.  
__Time to acknowledge my age.  
He winced.  
"Something wrong, Boss?" the German's factual voice asked jovially.  
"Age." The big man admitted with a groan. Jungjohann flashed a charming grin at him.  
"Let time worry about age, Commander. In this job you're blooming lucky to be able to celebrate another birthday."

He knew that, of course, but it was nice to be reminded in a subtle way that he was there to make sure the group survived and the job be done. Not to worry about his age.  
"Status?" he asked.  
"Bob keeps hearing an odd hum. Kos reports an increase of phosphorous matter on the walls, and we are three miles from our destination according to our tricorder."  
Chakotay nodded.

"The hum is probably the air restoration unit, situated in the Parliament's basement, The phosphor indicates that we are close the original dumping point from the toilets - algae, you know."  
"I know."  
"What would be the other groups' location at this time?"  
"Jonesy must have made contact with Delaan by now and making his way to the kitchen area. Hildegard must consequently have found the perfect route to back Maggots up."  
"What do you reckon that would be?"  
"If the maps are sound, I would choose route H8 - and then have my Horta make a detour through the wall between H8 and C5 right before junction H8B5."

The Native American locked eyes with his squad leader. Damn, she was good. He hadn't even considered that possibility. He blinked and suddenly heard his captain's words again:  
__They know what to do a helluva lot better than I do. The sergeants know their men and squads in and out. They know what weapons to employ, what equipment to bring. You just point the way and tell them their assignment and they'll do their job.

"But then, Jussie insists on being different and unpredictable. She might have sent her Horta down corridor H2 to blow the end wall there and make a jump to C3." Jungjohann continued, knowing her friend like the back of her hand.  
Chakotay blinked again. Another interesting possibility he hadn't considered.  
Mel had been right. Just point the direction and let them do their job. As for now, this group was his responsibility, and he would make sure they made it in one piece.

*

"Couldn't you have done that a little more silently?" Hildegard asked her Horta with a telltale grimace as the end wall of corridor H2 crashed noisily from the living rock's efforts.  
"What did you expect me to do? Catch the stones, one by one as they fell?" the Horta whispered back in his com device. Justine growled. _Ah, well, even a Horta can't eat an entire wall in the short time it takes for the rocks to fall,_ she admitted inwardly.  
Out loud she said: "Never mind, Hew - what do you see?"  
"Nothing alive on this side of the..."  
"GET DOWN!!!"

Justine's warning was said in normal volume, but through the ear devices, it sounded like a magnificent roar. All her men ducked and squeezed themselves flat against the rock wall, including the live rock that simply pulled itself together like a tortoise, making the analogy perfect by lying dead still.

Remaining completely immobile with a helmet that was about to tip down and into her eyes Justine listened to her surveillance bugs for almost ten minutes before she finally dared explaining her actions to her men.

"Listen up, men." She whispered in a tone that made everybody sigh with relief and turn up their ear pieces once more.  
"Maggots have retreated into a rat hole. Something is wrong, but we don't know what. Reports."  
"Nothing unusual." Her Trill next-in-command said after a few seconds of listening to the others.  
"Well, there's gotta be something or Jonesy wouldn't be doing something as drastically as this. I have his location on the 'meter. We will go to point Lima and dig ourselves a rat hole there... and wait."

Nobody requested further information. Nobody questioned her decision. The group simply picked up their equipment, woke up Hew and proceeded to point Lima.  
They were too well trained to do otherwise.

*

They could tell it by the way she entered the room.  
They could tell it by the way she walked.  
They could tell it by the way her eyes pinned them in their seats.  
They could tell it by the way she sat down and neglected to throw her legs on the table surface.  
Something was very wrong.

And she didn't waste time on art. Instead she blurted right out:  
"Lore is capable of monitoring our communication between the _Chief_ and the planet."  
The room became dead silent for several seconds.  
"How?" Mallennie finally wanted to know, her religious earrings tinkling revealingly in apprehension of the news.  
"You tell me - you're the cybernetics expert." Captain Dayton reminded her.  
"Are we talking about all our communication?" Ape asked relevantly.  
"Unknown. However, I strongly suspect that he hasn't yet found a way to listen in on our ear pieces which is why I suggest we all go to CEDS when we part after this meeting."  
"But we can't afford to take it for granted." Myth contributed, having snuck in with Mel's wake. The others immediately noticed that he appeared to be somewhat weak and slightly shaky.  
"Precisely. We must leave nothing to chance and come up with an efficient defence against intruder piggy waves."  
"That means a comprehensive update of our entire radiation shield." Ape said, a heartfelt groan on the tip of his tongue.  
"Correct."  
"What do we use for spatial communication instead, then?" Betak asked.  
"Nothing. We are now completely severed from the operation on the planet. And if my surmise is correct, we need to be more concerned about this ship and its crew than of the away team."

Nobody had expected the captain's last remark; that much was certain. She knew that, of course, and continued:  
"It seems to me that we have been working on this problem from the wrong angle. We have assumed that the extremists' goal was actually the senator and that their angle was a hostage caper. I no longer believe that."  
Her officers saw it faster than she had anticipated.

"Lore!" Mallennie breathed.  
"Lore, indeed." Mel concurred, "Since he has become an element, we must see it solely from his POV. What does he have to gain? Possession? No, that has never been his desire. Power? Bingo."  
"How would he gain power by taking a Sigmarian senator hostage?" Ape said, still a bit confused.  
"He doesn't care jack about either of the worlds involved." Mel said, her tone bone-dry, "It is more likely his purpose to lure a certain flagship to the rescue."  
"The _Enterprise_? Lieutenant Commander Data?"  
"Let's just say that I don't believe the Soong family's black sheep ever really forgave his kid brother that he turned him off."  
Betak leaned forward. He had been doing his homework since their last meeting and was eager to air his own theory.  
"Let's not forget the role Captain Picard has played in this android's fate either. According to Starfleet sources, Lore has been most insistent in including Picard in his vengeful actions."  
"That is true," Mel agreed, "in other words..." she looked at Myth, who readily added:  
"Lore has been expecting Starfleet to send the Enterprise to deal with the Sigmarian situation."

Mel leaned back, smiling for the first time since her hunch had drummed her officers into action.  
"So that's our advantage, people. Lore's first mistake. He doesn't know whom he is dealing with."

*

The head sewer narthex was somewhat bigger than Chakotay had anticipated. And a lot smellier. The minute he stuck his head round the corner, he was reminded of one memorable visit to Paris and its miles and miles of eerie catacombs loaded with odd patterns of skulls and bones from dead Parisians. Fortunately, he was happy to conclude, the Sigmarians had not been using their sewers for storing dead people.

However, the general picture was similar to that of Paris. Endless corridors with small and incredibly dirty rotundas where one could pause sitting on humid soil before entering another maze of damp, stinking tunnels the only constructional purpose of which seemed to be evoking dormant claustrophobia in innocent bypassers.

And now this huge cave, 20 yards from top to bottom, with moisture running down the rocky surface of the walls and forming little puddles on the ground where it would mate with the chalk and make a man slip and fall. Treacherous.

Chakotay shook himself out of the odd state the spooky atmosphere had lulled him into.  
"Secure perimeter." He mouthed to his squad leader. She was already on it.  
The first officer tilted his helmet and looked round. Six tunnel entrances, one apparently connecting the whole system with the building. The latter was the one they were headed for. Easy to spot. Easy to rig with a trap.  
Bloody easy to die there.

The bronze man deliberately pushed away the morbid thought and concentrated fiercely on the operation, brutally quelling any uninvited feeling that might impair his actions. From here on it could get very complicated. Their plan was to sneak in, roam around to pretend looking for the senator, get Lore's attention and pull back, drawing - he hoped - all their fire while the Maggots located the hostage and got her out of there.  
Simple.  
A simple way to die.  
__Stop that damn thought. Quell it. Terminate it.

All in good time. First of all they had to synchronise it with Jonesy's group. Chakotay activated the time indicator in his IR lenses.  
_We're early_, he realised, _still 15 minutes to go_.  
Fifteen minutes to sweat. Fifteen minutes to get increasingly nervous. Fifteen minutes to pray. Fifteen minutes to live.  
"Fifteen minutes to relax.", Jungjohann's calm voice came from behind.  
Chakotay exhaled the breath he had been holding very, very gently._ Thank you, Jungjohann_. She had given him the perfect reason to love those 15 minutes.

*

The heat was getting intolerable. One thing was drilling their way through solid rock with a steaming Horta, who took perverse pleasure in generating even more heat as she ate. Another thing was squeezing themselves into a rat hole with hot Horta and all and simply... wait.  
_The cap must have her reason_, Jonesy thought. Though he sometimes suspected that she was cultivating a particularly sadistic trait in herself, he very much doubted that she would carry it as far as implementing it in the OPS.  
Despite still hot rock walls, the rat hole they had dug for themselves was a marvel. Once more Lonc had proved herself indispensable. The hole made five turns, each in odd crooked directions designed to make an intruder completely directionally confused. God knew that they were themselves just from crawling in there. In addition the carefully constructed turns and angles made it easier for a warning sound to reach them before their breathing would alert a possible intruder. A masterpiece of intelligent drilling.  
Jonesy sighed as silently as he could, but the tiny sound didn't escape the acute hearing of his favourite private.  
"Bored, Boss?". Her communication device translated the odd aural Horta waves into a fascinating glockenspiel of tiny, crust bell tones.  
"Hot, Lonc."  
"How long yet?"  
The sergeant consulted his IR lenses by blinking rapidly twice.  
"Fifteen minutes till Chief Bully breaks in. Thirty-two minutes till improvisation."  
"Do you suppose they know?"  
"I certainly hope so."  
"I felt a presence when you were talking to the cap."  
"I know. So did I."  
"It worries you?"  
Jonesy almost smiled. He never could hide anything from his Horta.  
So he didn't answer. He didn't have to.  
Sweat continued to trickle down his face, and the young man stuck out his tongue to taste the salty fluid, the motion becoming almost a ritual to help him kill time. He briefly wondered if Sigmarians sweat.

*

She had long stopped reaching her dry tongue out for the sweat that dribbled down her now heather coloured face. She knew how it tasted anyway. Sweet. Like Terran honey, in fact. She had sampled Terran honey once in her life when their earth liaison had been a novelty and nothing bad could come from a planet like that. The Federation would provide, protect and inspire them to do better; they would educate them, watch them grow with pride, catch them when they stumbled. The Federation could do nothing wrong. Ever since then she had loved to taste her own sweat. Sweet and flowery.  
Illara Ki's hands were still tied behind her back. She still couldn't see anything. Slowly as fear had crept through her every pore, she had stopped caring about even that. Yet somewhere in the back of her head, she hoped and prayed that the Federation would rescue her and make everything right.

The scary man with the velvet voice had left her momentarily, but he would probably be back. And when he came back he would probably torture her again the way he knew hurt her the most. Preventing her from seeing, preventing her from employing her limited range of senses.

Illara Ki's body suddenly jerked. She had heard a sound. A brutal sound. However, without her eyes she could not fully determine what kind of sound exactly. It had sounded like a ... smack... or a bang.

And then suddenly her blindfold was ripped away from her eyes. With a sudden and frightening pang she realised she could see and understand everything round her. She was in a damp, dark room, the sound she had heard had been the door being opened... she gasped. Though never having seen him before, she recognised the eerie creature that now leaned down towards her. An oval, chrome coloured face with a largish nose and beady yellow eyes hovered over her, his pit black pupils piercing her white ones. He stood thus for a while and then let a smirk spread over his face, an action that made an odd creaking sound in her acute ears.

"I want you to understand what I am saying to you now." He said, completely calm and without touching her the least.  
"Men are coming to get you. Men from the Federation. They will not succeed because I have laid a trap for them. I know them well; they are Terran and I was created by a Terran. I will take over their ship and bring you with me. Safely aboard, I will rape you and do with you as I please."

The android gave himself exactly four long seconds to fully enjoy her expression and reaction to the news, see her gullible childhood faith in her precious Federation crumble like the fragile card house it was before he sent her back into dark oblivion behind the blindfold.

*

On the other side of the wall that flanked the Parliament's boiler room, Commander Chakotay's group lay ready to enter the lion's den. The waiting was finally over, the countdown of the last minute had begun and Lore, the android, had all his helpers positioned so that the invading group wouldn't stand a chance in hell of escaping extremists claws until it was too late.

And Lore smiled.  
  


**[Part 5][1]**  


**[E-mail][2]** the writer and give her feedback.

   [1]: ChiefCochise5.html
   [2]: mailto:hyperhenry@get2net.dk



	5. The Chief Cochise, chapter 5

Henriette's Art and Fiction - The Chief Cochise 5

**The Chief Cochise**  


**_Part 5_**

  


Engineering remained one of those magical places where a crafty science-interested person easily could get lost for days, poking in the fascinating and other-worldly devices and apparatus. The place had a somewhat polychrome quality compared to its equivalent sections in other starships due to the intriguing fact that the equipment was basically dominated by a mesh-mash of alien design. In addition, strange objects were protruding from the bulkhead and some of the consoles as if they were placed there for one purpose only. A ballet performed by one swinging monkey in particular.

Mel Dayton permitted herself to stop and admire the adroit Ape for a second as he swung himself from control console to access ladder and back again in complete control of his fluent motions despite his bulky form.  
She understood that she really didn't have the time to indulge in such frivolity, yet it also remained a fact that short relaxing breaks in built-up tension was known to help a group work optimally as a coherent entity.

Her scrutiny inevitably made her chief engineer look up eventually.  
"What's up, Cap?"  
She grinned at him and leaned on the platform support.  
"I'd give you 9.6 for technical impression and 9.8 for art." She stated, never abating her smile.  
"Why the difference?" Ape's crow's-feet twinkled at her.

Mel started to descend.  
"I just might tell you if you are a good boy and give me what I need."  
"Would that be a total shielding defence against eavesdroppers? I regret to inform my captain that we haven't got that far yet."  
"Will we?" she stopped in front of him, blatantly enjoying his movements as he swung himself down to land at her feet.  
"Sure, we will. Six hours after the shit hits the fan."  
Mel winced at the archaic expression more than the actual information it imparted.  
"Crap."  
"I concur."  
She shrugged, clearly indicating that she would never hold this against him. Some things couldn't be helped.  
"In that case we must simply turn our disadvantage to our advantage."

Ape felt a slow grin spreading over his face. How devious she was. And how classic. The little pycnic man hurried off to start the procedure without even asking for details.  
It wasn't till much later the chief engineer suddenly recalled their conversation in details as he was inserting a replacement isolinear communication chip.  
"Why DID she grade my technique differently from the artistic impression?" he murmured.  


Later Commander Chakotay would marvel of nature's way to reinstall long forgotten reflexes and intuition. Later he would have time to contemplate the irony in history's awkward and perverse urge to repeat itself and man's short-coming in learning from it not withstanding.  
Later, but not now.

Now, he had irreversibly become the unwilling yet voluntary prisoner of Lore, the Soong android. All due to an ability to receive hunches, have instinct... and act on them.  
Thirty seconds before they entered, the sixth sense had hit him.  
And he reacted accordingly and instinctively, yelling to his men "****trap" and blocking the way for the attacking force with his broad back. His loud warning had the desired result; his highly trained and disciplined group fell back immediately and retreated to a safer position. As for himself he never even felt the stun beam. Putting himself in the line of fire. For his men. Sacrificing himself. For his men.  
_I wonder how Mel will react?_ was his last thought before the stun blast mercifully let him dive deep into oblivion.

"D-Day's gonna hate this." The corporal, a Bajoran, hissed intently into his ear piece.  
"No shit, Sherlock." Jungjohann hissed back, "Status." she wanted to know.  
The Chief Bully had sought cover behind a cave-in in corridor C2, waiting for the attacking army to charge at any given moment. Everybody, except a Vulcan, was panting slightly from the sudden and quick retreat that their commander had ordered them to perform so unexpected.  
_Damn, he's got good reflexes_, Jungjohann thought of their new first officer as her mind reeled with possible options to retrieve him.  
An all hands count from the rear made it clear to her that the group was safe for now and everybody save the commander was accounted for.  
No casualties and no injuries.  
So far, so good.  
Now, there was just this minor detail about a captive, presumed injured, platoon leader and ship's first officer. Worse: D-Day's property and immediate subordinate. Man, she was going to have a cow.  
Not good.  
Jungjohann made her decision.

"Pull back, people, and reassemble at point Alpha Niner."  
If they were to retrieve the commander, they would have to choose another position. She was in command now and no one was questioning her orders. The group pulled back carefully, step by step, watching their back as they crawled through the narrow, wet tunnels.  
One thing at a time.  


Lore was furious. Not only had he lost three of his men in the trap that should have insured him full control of at least one of Captain Picard's teams - the loot was also reduced to one person only. One person. The android positively fumed. Performing a damn good impersonation of a thunder cloud about to crack open with intense lightening he turned to face his helpless and incompetent extremists.  
"**GET out there and track them down. I want them. ALL of them**."  
They offered no comment, though their eyes strayed to their three dead buddies, who lay stacked like a pile of wood at the entrance to the boiler room. Three of them. Shivers ran through them as they wearily and tentatively opened the door next to the pile of bodies, evidently not too keen on leaving their present existence the same way their fallen comrades had.

"**__**GO!" Lore roared when he saw them hesitate. Their fear for the artificial being won out and they bolted out into the boiler room, tripping over each other in their frantic eagerness to please their stern and highly lethal boss.

Lore growled when he turned with scarily fluent motion to the limp and immobile body of Mel Dayton's first officer. Whoever he was, he was going to pay. He had had a perfect plan and this... human had ruined it with sharp reflexes and an uncanny intuition that no organic being deserved.  
The android stooped and turned the unconscious man with two fingers... and then he noticed the rank. A slow smile adorned his pale face but never made it to his amber eyes.  
A commander.

Usually only the first officer of a starship wore the rank of a full commander. Yet if his infallible positronic memory served him well, the Enterprise's first officer was a big, stupid babe-magnet by the name of Will Riker.  
And this bronze coloured and tattooed man didn't look anything like Will Riker.  
His smile broadened and threatened to crack his silicone face. He would have to interrogate this man.  
He couldn't wait.  
But the smile still didn't reach his eyes.  
  
  


*

  


Jonesy wasn't sad that they had to leave the rat hole. As much as he liked Lonc, her massive bulk of a body had begun to take up more room than he cared for.  
Using merely his jaw the American clicked into his ear piece to awaken the system and his men before he plunged into command speech.

"Waky, waky, guys," he whispered, "time to go on. The hour has come and gone and D-Day still hasn't contacted us."  
"Of course not," one of the tunnel rats grumbled, "she's making freaking sure she's getting all the Romulan ale before any of us has a chance."

The comment resulted in general mirth and helped loosen the somewhat 'squeezed' atmosphere their involuntary impasse had forced upon them.  
"Any way we can ascertain the situation?" Jonesy's next-in-command, a skinny Aussie with cat green eyes and almost colourless hair, asked him.  
"Nothing that wouldn't give our position away, Jake." The squad leader said.  
"What's our angle then, boss?" she asked him, her Australian accent more distinct and thick than ever.  
"Play it by ear. Go do what we came here for. We must assume that Hildegard is doing her job, watching our asses. As for Chief Bully... anything goes. Time will show."  
"What if the mates haven't been able to make the diversion?"  
"Then we'll conjure something up when we get there."  
His privates nodded, all ready to follow his lead. He nodded back. Acknowledging that he would give his life for them.  
"Let's buckle up."  
And with three rapid winks he set his IR lenses in surveillance mode.

One mile from Maggots another group in another rat hole started to come alive as their leader softly informed them that Maggots were on the move. Hildegard listened intently for a couple of moments and then silently indicated with signs what she wanted done.  
Jonesy's guardian angels set out, discreetly and quietly as shadows.  
  
  


*

  
  


Chakotay groaned deeply and heartily. Though having had to bite the dust from a phaser stun more than once, he would never get used to the odd and uncomfortable tickling it left in all his neural pathways and nerve endings. It made his entire system of senses feel shredded and discordant, and it usually took his body about 10 minutes to recover to his usual level of performance.

Even before the ex-Maquis got his senses back in a fully functional state, they were busy identifying his location.  
The ground was hard, smelled like soil and felt damp underneath his hands. And there was another smell he first couldn't quite determine. He blinked his eyes open, letting his fluid from his tear ducts freely clear out the tiny gravel of dirt that so irritated his corneas. Slowly he became more and more able to see his confinement. The place was dark. And there was a certain.. atmosphere. And there was that smell... which Chakotay suddenly understood what was with a physically painful pang of unerring and horrible certainty.

A sweet, somewhat nauseating smell with a bizarre twist of rot.  
The stench of death.  
It was the uncharming and familiar gust of a carcass that so violated his olfactory sense.  
Slowly his eyes adjusted to the pit dark room. No need, really, he knew what sight was awaiting him.

Shadows and shapes began solidifying and defining themselves to his visual nerves. It was like he suspected. An incredibly big shape was hanging against the farther wall, its massive neck broken and wrenched grotesquely in an odd and unnatural position. Chakotay blinked. He wasn't shocked; he wasn't even appalled. He had seen it all before. Flashbacks of brutal Cardassians coming up with the most bizarre and sadistic atrocity stunts to entertain themselves insisted on reminding him of another time, another life.

It wasn't until he could see clearly enough to recognise the dead figure that he understood that he still had a surprise coming. He had only seen this tall, unfortunate man's picture once in the captain's ready room, yet he knew his face immediately.  
It was Delaan. The Antarian who was supposed to join the Maggots.  
_Spirits, _the commander thought in a spurt of momentary panic_, Lore now knows everything about Jonesy and his mission. About the ship._

"He's awake and he's probably seen the dead Antarian by now." Pu Lha Ti, a short Ethnarian informed her artificial leader. Lore turned to manage the computer controls himself to check the readings, not trusting the Ethnarians to function adequately after the failure at the boiler room.  
"So he is." He concluded with a big smile, "Let him stew 20 minutes together with the corpse and then call me." He turned briskly to leave but was halted by Pu Lha Ti's concerned voice.  
"Where will you be?"  
He never stopped for more than a split second but continued out of the door, saying quietly:  
"In section 2 with my dear friend, the Sigmarian senator."

The senator was still lying on the floor, unconscious, when Lore burst in. Without caring whether she would wake or not, he grabbed her brutally, flung her over his shoulder with little or no effort for his hydraulic pumps and proceeded down the corridor with his flaccid burden.

She would service marvellously as bait. He knew there was one other team out there; they had succeeded in squeezing that much out of the Antarian before he so inconsiderately decided to die on them. The first team which they had encountered would no doubt be coming for their dear commander and the second team would head for the senator, bound to duty as those Starfleet people always were. Lore gritted his teeth. Well, that would be their undoing. He would relocate the senator to another area with dampeners and lay a waterproof trap for her rescuers, who would be attracted to the dampening fields like moths to the light. It couldn't fail. It wouldn't fail.

Jonesy lifted his hand almost imperceptibly and the entire group halted and crouched. Balancing gingerly on his toes, tilting his torso forward just a tad, he concentrated hard on reading his equipment right. From this point on the group didn't even use CEDS, but mainly relied on hand signals. The sergeant looked up and turned to his men, his hands getting busy relaying intricate patterns. _Two dampening fields straight ahead. Coordinates 12.3.25 and 12.6.21 each the diameter of 17 metres_. His group nodded back at him. The discovery of the dampening fields indicated that they were damn close at this point. The trick now was to search each and every dampening field meticulously and systematically since Lore would most likely have placed the senator in such a field to keep them from beaming her out. Simple. But time consuming. And they had already lost time. Jonesy signalled the group to move on. One field at a time.

First field was secured. According to the map, it was the kitchen, which appeared completely deserted. No extremists. No hostage. Keeping watch of his men's movements, Jonesy crept close to the Horta to communicate some orders. This was problematic at best since she had no means of communicating back, having no hands or similar limbs with which she could signal him. The only thing she could do without being allowed to use CEDS was engrave a stone with words with her highly corrosive drill fluids. However, that would result in steam and heat, which would be a highly undesirable flagpole as the situation was.

_Scan for heat in the fields we encounter_, he signalled her. Fortunately she understood perfectly, heaving her bulk of a body up and down in agreement without any questions necessary. A Horta could sense heat ten times more accurately than Federation tricorders. If any life form was anywhere near the dampening fields, Lonc would know and save them a lot of time.

Second field. Jackpot.  
__That so, Lonc? How many?  
The Horta shook itself twice.  
__All the same?  
She nodded. Jonesy felt a twinge of disappointment. Sigmarians had a considerably lower body temperature than Ethnarians. If Lonc felt dots of equal degrees of heat on the other side of the field, it meant that the Sigmarian probably wasn't there.  
The sergeant quelled a profound sigh and used it instead to fuel his level of adrenaline to get him and his group going. He signalled them to crawl on. As the sewer system engulfed most of the complex' basement, they did not experience too much trouble with cover. The real problem was sound discipline as the echo of the walls and tunnels made sure that every tiny step or movement could be heard for miles.

_The red-ribb'd ledges drip with the silent horror of blood,_  
_And Echo there, whatever is ask'd her, answers 'Death'._

Jonesy shivered inadvertently. Now was not the time to turn literate, he winced.  
  
  


*

  
  


The trap was set, the commander's period of grace was at an end and it was time to retrieve the truth from a Starfleet officer's lying and weak mouth. The android giggled. He always enjoyed this part of humanity in particular. Their stupid and irrational persistence in 'honour', 'loyalty' and urge to get hurt at every given opportunity. They must like it, he concluded, as he eagerly and anticipatorily strode down the hallway towards the commander's "hotel room".

"How is he?" he asked Pu Lha Ti, who suddenly got busy at the voice of her merciless leader.  
"Heart rate unchanged. Breathing rate unchanged."  
"That is about to change." The android smirked and ordered the door opened.

Never in an artificial life time had he expected the vicious attack that was launched on him the minute he stepped inside the room. Never had he expected his prey to be able to knock him so thoroughly into the wall that he actually he actually lost his balance and immediate concentration. Never had he expected his victim to use a dead colleague against his captor.

Yet, that was precisely what happened. The tattooed commander had been waiting patiently, all his senses widely awake and strained to their utmost capacity, with two clammy hands on the rotting corpse he had taken down from its rusty hook. The moment a shape stepped through that door, all his ready muscles and sinews reacted like a released spring, and he threw the big body of the huge Antarian into his approaching opponent without taking the time to see who it was.

The attack took Lore completely and utterly by surprise. With impressive force and momentum the huge bulk of the corpse propelled the android against the wall which he connected with an illustrious bang and then slid down from. Explosive fury began welling in him, dangerously close to a warp core breach, as his prisoner bolted out of the room and knocked Pu Lha Ti cold in the process without even stopping.

Lore never got the time to roar an order before yet another stun hit the fleeing commander smack in the chest and sent him to dreamland for the second time within an hour.  
After five seconds the android finally managed to disentangle himself from the bizarre and morbid embrace with the dead Antarian, threw the voluminous alien aside with ease and ran out of the room to stop his men.

Too late. His excellent audio sensors had not deceived him. His sadly brain lacking extremists had stunned the man again. He would have to start all over again.

Soong had given his son everything but the ability to control his overwhelming anger and arrogance. Swearingly Lore promptly turned and killed the Ethnarian who had delivered the stunning shot.

"**__**Listen up!" he roared, "**__**I do NOT tolerate any more mistakes! Is that clear? Anybody who has a problem with that can join their comrade on the floor!" he paused for effect, but all he saw were Ethnarian jaws hanging down and bottomless fear emanating from their eyes.  
"Well? Nobody? Good! I suggest, then, that you do your damnedest to wake up this pathetic joke of a human as quickly as you possibly can. In fact... your lives depend on it!"  
There was dead silence. Until Lore lost it again.  
"**MOVE IT!**" and people suddenly became extraordinarily busy, virtually falling over themselves, eager to please and survive.  


_Did you hear that?_ Corporal Jake Cresham signalled her CO with vivid hand gestures.  
_I'm not deaf_, Jonesy signalled back. They had all heard a voice crying something which sounded a lot like "oove't". The voice had been forceful, brutal in intonation and without the slightest hint of effort, taken the volume into consideration. In short, there was a good possibility that the voice belonged to Lore, their android adversary.

Jonesy locked eyes with his NIC and she batted her Australian eyelashes back at him. He nodded in complete comprehension. If it was indeed the android they had heard, the diversion had been a failure. Lore shouldn't be near that position if he was busy fighting Chief Bully at the boiler room.  
Well, they knew that D-Day had had a good reason to order them to dig a rat hole in the first place, Jonesy mentally shrugged. And this might very well be it.  
And yet, the first team's operation hadn't been a total failure in the means of diversion. Lore was diverted. Not the way or in the place they had intended originally. But still diverted. And it was Jonesy's job to make the most of the current situation.

Through a veil of sweat and dust Jonesy saw Jake nod at him from the right corner of the dampening field and then tilt her head at the Horta. The sergeant nodded back.  
Lonc had spotted something.  


  


*

  


"Will this work?" Captain Mel D. Dayton asked, looking for assurance.  
"That depends," Lt. Gul Betak replied, wry amusement creeping into his tone, "on the effect you have in mind. This position is perfect for being discovered and shot to atoms. On the other hand, it is also perfect for beaming up our crew."

Mel grimaced at him, letting him know that they really didn't have time for smart remarks. He got the hint immediately and altered the character of speech accordingly.  
"... on the other hand, if you are looking for a viable compromise, these coordinates," his slim and elegant Cardassian fingers pointed out a green number on the head screen in Stellar Cartography, "will decrease the risk of us being shot out of existence proportionally, AND, unfortunately, the chance of us beaming back everybody in one piece."

Dayton took exactly 1½ second to make her decision.  
"We go with option 1... and then I want you to emit this signal when Eclatar plot in the course at the helm."  
Betak looked at the hand written programming, he hadn't seen handwriting on paper for a long time, yet desperate times required desperate means, he knew and accepted.  
He nodded. This plan was just crazy enough to actually work. Then he smirked, unable to resist:  
"From this I can deduce that readable handwriting at the Academy really isn't a req..."  
"Careful," Mel leered at him, "the last time I checked, the hull looked mighty dirty and calling out for a tooth brush."

The Cardassian clamped his mouth shut immediately and kept it shut as a chuckling D-Day left Stellar Cartography.  


In the hallway she was suddenly and inexplicably joined by the ever present Myth. Without any sign of surprise she continued staring into space front of her, asking him:  
"Status?"  
"The officers are as ready as they will ever be. Eclatar has tuned his controls, Ape and Mallennie have commenced feeding God with the... alternate programming. T'Rees has rigged Sickbay the way we agreed and Masomo has advised all his men."  
Mel finally stopped and turned to him.  
"And you, buddy?"  
The shape shifter unexpectedly closed his eyes for a split second, almost appearing to be in a short but intense prayer. Then he opened them again, his irises more hazel and shining than usual.  
"Ready."  
The captain nodded and they both proceeded down the hallway without further ado.  
  
  


*

The first officer of the _Chief Cochise_ gasped loudly as water was brutally splashed in his face. The wet shock resulted in him slowly coming to his senses, and he noticed that his clothes were overtly drenched. Obviously the splash that woke him hadn't been the first bucket of water they so munificently had bestowed on him.

The realisation hit him hard as he understood that his escape attempt had failed miserably and that he was still the prisoner of their robotic opponent.

Commander Chakotay had never met Lieutenant Commander Data in his life, a fact that made it impossible for him to compare the two brothers. Yet he understood that in lieu of appearance they looked like each other more perfectly than human twins.  
_I wonder... how can anyone work together with somebody this evil-looking?_, he thought, very much doubting that he would ever be able to look at Commander Data with ease after being introduced to his evil twin should he live to encounter the Starfleet officer.

Lore stood before him, pinning him with sharp and needling canary eyes with creepily pale eyelashes, a thin line for mouth twitched to control a big happy smile and ghostly chrome hands flexed their unbelievably strong fingers almost rhythmically.  
This was one seriously disturbed robot.

"Commander," the android began, revealing a dark mouth with yellow teeth, "I am so pleased to make your acquaintance." He then began to pace slowly. Chakotay took the opportunity to eye his surroundings. He was free of any kind of restraints, but his entire person was closely guarded by three Ethnarians with heavily charged phasers. The chamber was relatively large with smooth walls, a couple of tubes running down the corners and no openings beside the door. After the surprise attack he had launched against Lore, Soong's creation apparently played it safe.

"We have few but easily comprehensible rules here; let me outline them for you and then we'll talk." He turned and faced his victim again.  
"Rule No. 1: you will not speak unless I ask you to. Rule No. 2: when I let you speak you will answer my questions only in succinct phrases. Any attempt to stall for time will be heavily punished. Rule No. 3: you do not - under any circumstance - move a muscle. Three simple rules. Are they understood?"  
Not a word escaped the Native American's mouth.  
"You may answer the question." Lore snarled.  
"Yes." Chakotay said, surprised that his voice was still functional.  
The android smiled, satisfied.

"Next question: what is your name?"  
Chakotay didn't even hesitate. He knew that the android easily could have downloaded the entire history of Starfleet personnel before instigating the entire hostage scheme and would thus recognise his real name if told.  
"Jesus Sanchez." He lied, figuring that he would meet the ethnic requirements for a Latino American. He was right. Lore bought it instantaneously.. or he didn't deem it worthy of pursuing.  
"What is your function on your ship?"  
"Platoon leader."

The android turned faster than the human eye could follow and viciously hissed at him.  
"That is a **lie**. The _Enterprise_ has no platoons."  
Just before Lore's impressively powerful backhand of duranium and hardened steel hit him, one confused thought whirled through the commander's brain. _The _Enterprise_? He thinks we are from the _Enterprise_??_

"Now, try again." Lore demanded while Chakotay spit out a tooth together with saliva and blood.  
"It was the truth," Chakotay said hoarsely through mouth water and sticky blood, "The _Enterprise_ took in a special platoon as soon as the Ethnarian government asked for help. It's a new procedure."  
This earned him another backhand.  
"**I SAID - be SUCCINCT!**"  
Chakotay coughed as the violent punch caused his body to roll several metres and his mouth to take in dust and chalk. So familiar. It was all so familiar.

And so the questions continued. How many teams were there? Their positions? Counting how many crewmembers? What were Captain Picard's orders? And the blows rained on him every time the android thought he was lying through his remaining teeth - which was pretty much all the time. Losing teeth was nothing new to Chakotay either. In fact, he very much doubted that he had one natural tooth left after having been subjected to Cardassian treatment in the past. Teeth could be replaced. As ribs could, he automatically added mentally when he received a particularly vicious blow to his ribcage the moment after and heard the familiar crisp sound that goes with fracture.

One mantra kept him lying. One mantra kept him from spilling the beans and become a traitor.  
__My platoon must survive and do their job.  


_They have found her_, Hildegard mouthed to her Trill NIC. The Underdog were lying in a very narrow tunnel, their faces almost planted into the ground as their leader was concentrating on monitoring the Maggots' movements and actions. Their position was frighteningly close to Jonesy's, however, that would be acceptable as long as they weren't discovered.

The Maggots had long ceased to communicate verbally, a fact that made it as good as impossible for the Underdog to follow every consideration or/and decision the head team was making. From Jonesy's elevated level of adrenaline and normalisation of his cerebral chemical compound in addition to the fact that the Maggots had been still for more than ten minutes, Hildegard concluded that they had located the senator. It was now time for the A-team to make their move and for B to cover their tracks and hineys as they made the getaway.

This was the difficult part. This was the part that truly proved how good guardian angels were and how infinitely specialised they had to be to fill out the function as shadows. Jonesy would pull back as soon as he had the hostage and Hildegard would have to be 100 % ready to wrap things up behind him.  
Without knowing what the hell was going on.  
It took guts, intuition and months of training to do it even remotely successfully. It took a master of improvisation. And Ayoll Cox knew his CO to be just that.  
The sergeant's head popped up, almost colliding with Hew's bulky rock mass that lay in front of her. Jonesy had made his move.  


Jonesy set his group in motion. He knew they were walking into a trap. Lonc's innate heat detectors had already told them that the Sigmarian senator was surrounded by crouched Ethnarians in formation. It was time to create a little diversion of their own, the American decided. It was okay. They would come in the way the gaolers expected - but with a little more noise than the extremists had predicted.

_Lonc_, he mouthed, _the stage is all yours_.  
Nothing was as awe inspiring as a Horta drilling out an end wall with all its might. With almost no warning the large end wall of the room trembled and fell, revealing a very, very hot and hungry Horta, shivering violently and intimidating with pure joy and pride at its job. The terrified Ethnarians had never seen such a sight, not to mention a Horta, before. Then something else happened behind them. A crash nearly as loud as the one caused by the Horta made sure that four men got the complete and undivided attention of the extremists confronted with the Horta. Simultaneously, in an adjacent room, an Ethnarian lowered his weapon to the skull of the still unconscious Sigmarian, following orders to kill the senator at the first sign of trouble.  
He never got that far.  
An prominent Australian accent cut through his concentration and he had just time to look down a barrel before the blast from it stopped his brain activity forever.

Jake wittily blew the non-existent smoke away from the barrel of her weapon, satisfied that the Sigmarian hostage appeared to be quite alive. She stepped over the extremist body, grabbed the senator unceremoniously and in a fire-man's carry brought her out to waiting and helping hands on the other side of the hole she had made with her phaser. The blast had been well synchronised with Jonesy's show down the hallway. Exactly 0.04 seconds delayed to manipulate the gaoler's attention to be elsewhere when Jake made her entrance. Bloody good caper. The Aussie always enjoyed her job when the efforts came together in a perfect climax.  
She turned to deliver the only verbal report, Jonesy would let her:  
"Mission failed. I repeat, mission failed."  
Covering Lonc's flank as she retreated, Jonesy received and understood his NIC's report perfectly. They had the senator. Time to withdraw.  


And Lore heard it all. With a primal roar he disregarded the commander like a sack of sour potatoes, ordered the Ethnarians to guard him while he bolted down the corridor himself to view the extent of the disaster.

Havoc, was the answer. Pure havoc. There were 6-8 dead extremists, 21 live ones, crouching behind cover in complete terror, two impressive holes in the wall, debris everywhere and... Lore jumped into the room that held the senator, ... one missing hostage, of course. The android swore soundly, steam almost coming out of his ears. Had the gaoler not been dead, Lore would have taken care of that himself. He turned and left the room with impressive android speed and addressed the remaining 21 survivors.

"Get a grip! It's not over yet! Go to your stations and forget about your fallen comrades! We have work to do!"  
The extremists' fear of their leader won over the terror that the attack had filled them with. They slowly emerged from their cover, their faces drawn with doubt and angst. Such puny creatures. Best for him (and them) to dispose of them as soon as they were of no use for him anymore.

If Lore was a dangerous sociopath before, he was a raving lunatic now. Chakotay didn't have to probe the android's eyes to understand that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong with his captor's plans.

_This is it. I'm dead_. the first officer thought spontaneously as Lore stooped to look at him.  
"You friends have been clever." He said in a low and eerily calm tone, "In fact, I do believe you have been clever too."

Fear, anger, rage and undiluted fury welled up and took over the Native American's rational mind. He spit a big lump of saliva, slime and blood in the face of the android and hissed:  
"I promise you as sure as Hell exists that you will never **_never_** get any usable information out of me. Do you understand that?"  
Chakotay's chest heaved with passion and emotion, and he steeled himself of what was to come.

However, to the bronze man's immense surprise, the android simply wiped off the spit, turned to his men and gave them new instructions.  
"This man may NOT be lethally harmed. Is that clear? NOT lethally harmed. I want him ready to go with me in ten minutes."

And with those words the pale creature turned and left the room and one stunned Starfleet officer behind him.  
_So he has other plans with me? He will use me to get to the _Chief_? Spirits, this is not good._  
Fury started to fill his chest again. He had been taken advantage of so often. Usually by woman adversaries. He would be damned if androids started that unfortunate habit too.

Resolutely the ex-Maquis grabbed a sharp looking stone and buried it quickly in his wrist.  


Hildegard and her group suddenly became very, very busy. Jonesy had hit the fan with all his might and usual cocky attitude and the Underdog were left to mop up the mess. As soon as Hildegard heard the rumble of the Horta-generated cave-ins, she signalled her group to inch themselves forward and stopped them when they were able to get a better view.

Chaos.

That would be the best word for this part of the operation, Justine Hildegard decided. Rocks and debris was everywhere, Lonc was knocking down enemies faster than she ate rocks, Jake had disappeared behind a corner with three men and Jonesy was having a ball blowing the east wall to pieces. A discreet, covert OP? Not bloody likely when Jonesy was allowed free hands and carte blanche. Well, now was the time for creative thinking.

Hildegard quickly scanned the area, signalled her Horta to take position at the last hole Lonc had produced before their somewhat spectacular entry, told her NIC to secure the east wall on the south side and wait for her signal and remained behind at the corner tunnel herself.

The show was over faster than she expected. She soon spotted Jonesy's cheeky Aussie NIC and her three chosen helpers hauling a Sigmarian butt with them and disappear out of the get-away hole, covered by a hungry Horta and Jonesy's eager fire squadron. At the right time, her own NIC, Cox, made himself visible to Jonesy, letting him know that the guardian angels were in position, doing their job. The leader of the Maggots immediately retreated, dragging an excited Horta with him with some effort, and let the Underdog Horta close the hole after them.

Soon everybody was on the run. Since discretion and silence just went down the tube, time was of the essence now. They all needed to steer clear of the dampening fields that the _Chief_ could find them and beam them up.  
Simple.  
Dangerous.  
The element of surprise.  
Was a short one.  
Time was of the essence.  
Now.  


The bridge of the _Chief Cochise_ was silent and dark. Sound and light discipline had been evoked, the ship was sailing through space on minimal thrusters only. Everything which could be monitored by their android enemy down below on the planet. Mel Dayton knew that. It was all part of the game.

The moment had its own beauty akin to a doomed ship floating through the endless, starless night, only waiting for the merciful coup de grâce to end its empty existence and let it join eternal hands with esteemed ancestors to rest in the blessed heavenly oblivion.  
In the future there would be time for that. Time to sleep, perchance to dream.  
Let time deal with time.  
As of now, time was of the essence.

Mel put a light hand on her Andorian pilot's shoulder. His antennas trembled slightly and softly in gentle anticipation. And it happened just the way he wanted it to. Her slim finger began sliding up his neck and eventually his right antenna like a feather light caress connecting most intimately with his nerve endings. _Yes!_ Her index finger rested on the flank of the highly sensitive antenna shaft and she started tapping it lightly and completely soundlessly. Morse code. The ancient binary code system once again useful and vital for survival.

The _Chief_ was too close to the planet and its satellite now to risk oral communication even inside the ship. From this point on everything they said out loud would be carefully balanced to fit the adversary's ears. All communication and action had been laid out in advance, it was only last minute adjustment like the one the captain was currently relaying to her pilot that were admissible. Morse was as good a solution as any.

Send the shuttlecraft into position, was the message which Dayton was tapping on Eclatar's antenna. He immediately forwarded the order to the shuttlebay, scrambled and piggybacked it via the usual flow of computer signals throughout the ship to make sure no sensors could pick it up in clear language.

The shuttlecraft was released, engulfed in a shield packed with coded and fake signals.

The next message Captain Dayton tapped on her pilot's antenna made him swell with unashamed pride.  
__You the man!  
  
  


*

  


"He tried to commit suicide." The Ethnarian extremist said, presenting Lore with the primitive weapon that Commander Chakotay had grabbed for himself in the interrogation chamber.  
Lore took the stone and turned it, regarding it carefully and then turned his attention to the bloody wrist of his captive. He cocked his head and shot a sarcastic eyebrow in the air.

"You like pain?" he asked the commander in that creepy, calm tone Chakotay had come to know as a warning.  
Without waiting for the answer, the android grabbed the human's wrist hard and squeezed with his robotic strength. Chakotay couldn't hold back a yelp of pain. Lore nodded.  
"I believe you do." he said and let go of a now broken wrist. "And it is also my estimate that you have tried it before. That doesn't matter, of course. There is no way Picard will let you get hurt despite your ability to withstand intense pain".

So he still believed the _Enterprise_ to be above them. Good. Chakotay wasn't quite sure why it was good, but his hunch told him it could be used to their advantage.

Lore had his prawns drag their burden towards a unit that most of all reminded Chakotay of a transporter device. The two Ethnarians stopped at the control console and Lore proceeded to instruments imbedded in the wall just opposite the transporter pad.

"Very good," Lore smiled for the first time since the bold rescue of the senator had taken place, "The ship is heading towards the most adequate coordinates for beaming up their valiant crewmembers." His smile widened and made him look like a little boy whose birthday party finally was beginning to be fun.

Chakotay blinked. Was it his imagination or was the android's skin beginning to glow? Lore went to the transporter control console and started programming the machine.  
"Of course, you haven't been aware of this... I have been monitoring all the communication exchange between your ship and the planet. A very special system, your interactive neural communicator - as is the Vulcan at the other end of it. As you see. I know everything. And I know that your teams are supposed to send out a signal for your transporters to trace that your captain may beam them back aboard the _Enterprise_ once they have cleared the dampening fields."

Chakotay stopped blinking, concentrating fiercely on the question of WHY Lore was not aware that the ship was the _Chief_ and not the _Enterprise_. Then it hit him. At no point had any of them used other than code designations. No voice indication, no ship's identification, no recognisable transporter pattern. Lore had no way of knowing which people had been involved in this. Score one to D-Day.

Unfortunately, that would be the captain's only score. Helplessly her first officer could only watch and witness the android send out a fake transporter signal to the _Chief_ and prepare for the extremists troops to be beamed aboard the _Chief_ in the place of Chakotay's crew mates.  
  
  


**[Part 6][1]**  


**[Page][2]** me and tell me your opinion.

   [1]: ChiefCochise6.html
   [2]: mailto:hyperhenry@get2net.dk



	6. The Chief Cochise, chapter 6

Henriette's Art and Fiction - The Chief Cochise 6

**The Chief Cochise**  


**_Part 6_**

  
  


"Have you any idea what the hell is going on?" Kos Kiraan asked his CO in a loud voice, trying to drown the noise from the heavy downfall of debris and rubble in the H5 tunnel and at the same time attempting to keep his helmet on.

Jungjohann spit out a piece of chalk and yelled back, powerfully enough to bypass the CEDS:  
"**Somebody didn't give a flying fuck about our failed diversion and went ahead anyway!**"

Her NIC swore soundly by his prophets as a particularly big piece of rock tilted his helmet and caused his ear piece to fall out. As he fumbled for it with dusty and unresponsive fingers, his CO relayed her plans to him.  
"As soon as all this shit has stopped falling, we'll head back by route H4 and see of we can pick up what we lost back there!"  
Kiraan finally managed to find his ear piece.  
"Could you repeat that?" he shouted.

The German sergeant managed to match his vocabulary in profanity and gave up yelling him the orders. Instead she hand-signalled the whole thing, deftly avoiding the still falling stones and pebble.  
Ten minutes later the tunnel had finished collapsing on top of them and the Chief Bully slowly extricated themselves from half the sewer system. Or so it felt.  
"What about sound and light discipline?" one of the younger and less experienced tunnel rats asked their squad leader.  
"I think that just - literally - went down the drain, don't you?" Jungjohann said in a tone dryer than the debris.

Kiraan was still chuckling when they were exiting H5.

When Jungjohann and her dusty group finally made it to the place which formerly had entertained two lively swat teams with their hungry Hortas, leaving eight dead Ethnarians and 21 stunned ones, the place appeared to be as deserted as Siberia in January.  
The sinuous German ploughed her way through massive rocks, dirt and disfigured metal bars that once must have been the Sigmarian equivalent of plumbing, she decided.  
__Looks like Jonesy, all right, ... but where the hell is the boss?  
She gestured her group to secure the corridor and proceed room by room. Discretion be damned. The shit had already hit the fan big time and their additional attack might just surprise them enough to cough up the position of the _Chief_'s lost first officer.  
As always, the rules of the game had changed, and it was up to the away-teams to come up with their own. Nothing new there.

"Sarge!" one of the scouts suddenly cried, "I can hear a transporter unit energising!"  
And she heard it too. The familiar and telltale whining sound that always was a part of having one's molecules taken apart and sucked through a particle generator transmitter. Jungjohann and her group reacted like one entity, thinking alike, moving as one, no orders needed, none given.

Nonetheless, when they rushed the transporter room, all they found was a deserted room with two empty platforms save some few molecules sparkling mockingly in the dark.

Kiraan jumped to the console and punched in some signals in a matter of seconds. His eyes met Jungjohann's sharp water blue glance. The Bajoran shook his head gently.  
"Pointless. Whoever programmed this transporter knew what he was doing. A one way ticket and destination auto-deleted."  
"I think there's no doubt as to the identification of the programmer." The sergeant murmured through her teeth.

She turned to the rest of her group and saw reflected in their eyes what she felt: deep disappointment.  
Frustration then overcame her like an unstoppable and close to explosive tide, and she took off her helmet and flung it to the floor where it impacted with a highly obnoxious clang and rotated merrily for some seconds before it finally fell silent.  


_Ten minutes earlier_

Commander Chakotay had no idea how many Ethnarians one could squeeze into two transporters, but he realised that Lore was doing a fine job of finding the answer to that specific problem.  
The Native American's mind was too occupied considering various escape options to start counting, yet at some point he nevertheless guessed that the android had managed to fit in at least 25 individuals on each pad.  
Lore fingered the controls with an inscrutably gentle smile, signalled the starship above them for the crowd of about 50 extremists to transport out of the Parliament and motioned the next batch to approach.  


_Aboard the _Chief Cochise_:_

Lieutenant Commander Mallennie Millie's head suddenly jerked up. Her huge eyes pinned her captain's and she breathed:  
"Forty-eight people signalling for beam-out."  
"Stand by to energise." The captain said calmly.  
"Cap, do you think...?" Eclatar began.  
"There will be room for them." She assured her pilot.  


Absolutely helpless, Chakotay could but watch this army of messed-up idealists being winked out of his presence and indubitably aboard the _Chief Cochise_. His ship. Mel's ship. Fifty gone, fifty more to go. Lore didn't waste any time.  
Mel's first officer did one more desperate attempt to stop the flow of boarding terrorists, however, the two Ethnarian goons holding him knew their job, and he only managed to hurt himself further as they twisted his already limp arm even harder at every painful movement he made.

"Transporter room? Have you got them?"  
Mel's voice rang clear and firm through the ship's communication system. However, she received no reply.  
"Transporter room. Report."  
Silence.

The next group of about 50 people were on their way. Lore's creepy and self-indulgent smile widened and he turned to his prey, very much satisfied with himself and his sneaky achievements.  
"Ninety-four very dedicated rebel Ethnarians are now aboard the _Enterprise_. The first group was ordered to take over the transporters to make way for the next, which I have now beamed to key positions and I estimate that it is only a matter of minutes before the entire ship is under my men's control."  
He then bowed in a grotesque parody of courtesy to take applause.  
"However, I still need to transport four more persons... ah... yes, I see you have guessed it."

One nod to the brutal goons and they practically hauled the unfortunate FMOPS officer up on a pad and waited for their mechanical and highly perilous leader, who was currently pre-programming the transporter computer before he joined them.  
He took his time climbing the ramp, clearly savouring the magnificent moment, his undisputed and undivided triumph shining so brightly and overwhelmingly among the prettiest stars in the galaxy.

Was it Chakotay's imagination? Or did the android actually murmur:  
"Oh, brother dear - kind Captain Picard - heeeeere's Lore." just before they energised?

"Cap! Four more beam-outs .... one android life form and ... one human life form!" Mallennie reported, excited.  
Mel nodded.  
"Override. Return to original programming and re-route to coordinates 241.34.12. Brace yourselves and try not to get shot."  
Despite their captain's dead calm, all bridge crew suffered from a slight churning of their stomachs as four shapes shimmered into existence on the bridge between the viewscreen and Mel Dayton.

Even before they solidified, Mel could discern at least two of the forms: the bulky body of her first officer (hopefully alive) and the slim, pale elegance of one of the most remarkable cybernetic achievements in man's history.  
As the molecules before them slowly began to move, Dayton tightened her grip on a weapon she had grabbed from her belt and aimed it carefully at the chrome coloured intruder.

The transport was complete. All crew personnel jumped to attention at the sight of two Ethnarian hoodlums with the somewhat bedraggled and beat-up commander between them, and the next second 10 weapons were charged and aimed at the intruding foursome.  
Lore may have been surprised, but he was an android with android reflexes, which enabled him recover as quickly as his synthetic chemical/positronic reflex reaction system could muster: he immediately snapped his Starfleet hostage out of the hoodlums' arms and pointed a phaser gun against the officer's temple.  
Mel didn't even blink.

"Let the commander go and we will spare your life." She said, her voice steel and her eyes unblinking.  
"What is this?" Lore sneered, "This isn't the _Enterprise_."  
"How perceptive of you - now LET the commander go."  
The Ethnarians were fidgeting nervously, not knowing what to do. The android responded by pressing his weapon tighter against Chakotay's head, making the big man wince in the uncomfortable process.  
The bridge crew moved restlessly. The situation was getting unstable, but Lore never let go of his adversary's uncanny golden eyes, so very much like a darker version of his own.  
"Drop your weapon or he's dead meat." He snarled.  
Amber locked with amber.  
"You are hardly in a position to bargain." Mel pointed out still not blinking and apparently still dead calm.

However, sweat was beginning to show on her forehead. Tiny beads of fluid glinted modestly like a thousand miniature pearls on her creme coloured brow. Chakotay saw it. And Lore did, naturally. Slowly, the android's smirk was back in place. She might have amber eyes similar to his own, yet she was still human. Fallibly so.  
"What are the odds that my android reactions will press the trigger quicker than your flawed human fingers?".  
"This weapon is special," Mel said intently, her pitch getting a tad higher, "You'll be dead even if you manage to shoot me first."  
"But you are Starfleet," Lore's mesmerising voice insisted; his eyes were now positively shining with anticipation, "you know you can't let your first officer die. You can't let anybody die. That would be against everything the Federation believes in. Honour, decency, human rights and ethics."

Silence.  
Chakotay's eyes tried desperately to make contact with Mel's. He wanted to relay to her that he was willing to die for the ship. That she should never - under any circumstances - surrender to this vile creature. _Shoot us! Now!_

And then he did succeed in turning his head just enough to witness Mel Dayton's slim hand falter, doubt fill her eyes and resolve leave her face. NO! She was going to give in. This couldn't be happening. Painful panic and profound pity filled his veins and clouded his hurting mind to the extent that he felt himself falling into the darkest and most depressing pit of all. His heart felt as if it became sucked into cold space to disappear into an event horizon never to see the vibrant light again.  
**__**NO!

Yet, Mel's hand continued to fall. Still. As steadily as the autumn leaf on its graceful way through brisk calm air into the warm, safe and comforting arms of Mother Earth's rusty soil. No.

"Good girl." Lore whispered, his tone dripping with ill intent and malicious anticipation, "Now, put that interesting weapon on the floor and kick it over here... slowly!"  
With an expression of total defeat, lost eyes in a white face, the once so proud queen of the _Chief Cochise_, did exactly as she was told.

Lore was now in total control of the ship.  
  
  


*

  
  


The assembly point was dark, humid and damn depressing. Watery and hurting red eyes were straining from peering into the dark, adjourning tunnels and mouths were dry from all the dust and dirt that the groups had rustled alive on their tour-de-force through the Sigmarian sewer system.

"Why the hell aren't they responding to our beam-out signal?" Jake hissed silently into her ear piece. Jonesy turned to her with a pained expression.  
"You asked me about that ten minutes ago and my reply hasn't changed since then: I don't **know**."  
"Clearly they have encountered some problems." Lonc contributed.  
"Well, that's just dandy," Jake continued, "but MY problem is this certain Sigmarian, who won't bloody BREATHE normally."  
"What does our medic say?" Jonesy asked and turned his glance at Private Luanne Bartlett, who was diligently examining the alien ex-hostage.  
"I don't know a helluva lot about Sigmarians," she growled, "very few people do. But it appears that she has suffered a severe shock and that's not good news for Sigmarians."  
"What can you do about it?"  
"Just about what you would do to a human: elevate her legs, keep her warm and talk to her even if she does appear to be unconscious."  
"Well, then DO that," the sergeant emphasised, "and then stop bugging me. Obviously something has gone wrong aboard the ship. And you know damn well it always does. But D-Day always gets us out - just give her some time."

The tired group stopped bitching and concentrated even harder on their jobs.  
Naturally their captain would be in perfect control and get them out as soon as possible. They wouldn't doubt that in a million years.  
  
  


*

  
  


Dr Soong's "first born" android now stood with Mel's special gun in his left hand after having had one of the Ethnarians pick it up for him. He turned the silvery piece in his hand with a keen appreciative eye for its aesthetically pleasing shape. Fine lines snaked their way from the butt to the barrel in a most elegant way, if not functional. Lore cocked his head and then pressed his new toy against the commander's cranium, while ordering the rest of the bridge crew to drop their weapons. They complied without even waiting for Mel's signal.  
The android couldn't resist:  
"So what's so special about this weapon?"  
No reply.  
"Answer, _bitch_!" he growled, tightening his grip round Chakotay's throat, an action that made his hostage rattle noisily.

The captain's eyes had never left the face of the android. Sweat was still glistening on her honey coloured skin, but she never once lost her composure despite her obvious sign of nervousness. She blinked once when her first officer began to sound choked and then decided to answer the question.  
"It has been specially constructed to deal with your body shields." She said tonelessly.  
Commander Data's socially diseased brother grinned openly, all his wolfy teeth out in fresh air.  
"Why, you ARE ingenious. I believe I like you even better than ol'e Picard. He WAS getting kinda quaint and stiff. It's definitely nice to encounter fresh... blood. So tell me, oh most appetising captain - where the HELL are my people?"

Something happened with Dayton's eyes. Afterwards, Chakotay never really did remember exactly what it was. From one moment to the other, her eyes turned from slightly nervous and raw to .... dispassionate ... cold ... steel; even her moisty brow dried up in record time. Impossible to determine or explain.  
Lore saw it too. His own yellow eyes narrowed. And then she answered his question. Slowly as if she had all the time in the world.  
"Your people? Are you talking about those 95 Ethnarians that beamed into open space?"  
The android gritted his teeth furiously.  
"Don't FUCK with me, lady. I transmitted the beam-out signal and YOU RESPONDED - you beamed them aboard yourself."  
Mel Dayton looked as innocent as a Sunday school.  
"I don't know what you are talking about ... our scans showed 95 life forms materialising 68.87 metres aft of the ship."

Lore didn't wait for an elaboration on that odd occurrence. Instead his temper and corrupted positronic synapses got the better of him and he whipped his weapon arm round to aim the dangerous gun at its former owner.  
"That's not **fair**!" he exclaimed, his voice suddenly the voice of a five-year-old, "I will make you pay for this."  
Commander Chakotay squirmed with all his might but still didn't managed to twist himself out of the android's iron grip enough to disarm him.  
Lore was simply too superior by far.

Gritting his teeth, his face contorted in bitterness and raw, savage hate, Soong's creation pulled the trigger.

click

and pulled it again.

click

"Oops."

The regretting voice belonged to Mel Dayton. Lore's head whipped up to face the captain of the _Chief_ whose eyes glinted humorously back.  
Then suddenly something odd was happening with the weapon and his arm. The situation was developing fast. The weapon appeared to turn liquid and melted against his hand. Lore tried to throw it away, but it was practically glued to his hand. Uncharacteristically he now let go of the commander to use his right hand to remove the mysterious gun. However, it turned out to be an impossible task as the liquid metal was already on route over his shoulder and down his back, stretching longer and longer and covering more and more of the android's surface.

Simultaneously Mel's bridge crew successfully disarmed the confused and sorry rebels, who appeared to be petrified with fear at the sight of their once so strong leader fighting a hopeless battle with some devilish, liquid weapon.

Chakotay fell heavily to the floor, wincing at the impact. Yet, he still managed to forget his broken wrist, his missing teeth, swollen face and freely flowing ribs in the attempt to understand what the hell was happening to the android.

Lore was now clawing his back furiously and desperately. He now knew where the enigmatic weapon was headed and its dreadful purpose and was thus fighting for his life. Yet, even his power steered mobility and superhuman strength did not stand a chance in hell - much less aboard the _Chief Cochise_ - of pulling the murderous metal, that continued its journey in warp speed, off his body.

The weapon eventually reached his lower back and Lore locked eyes with Captain Melanie D. Dayton in that very second. He knew he had lost and his glance comprised both deep sorrow, infantile anger and fear and a burning desire for vengeance. Mel looked back with interest but otherwise detached and cool. She had been given that revengeful look more than once in her life already.  
Amber locked with amber. Yellow pinning golden.  
Lore felt a click in his back.  
And that was the last thing he felt.  
  
  


*

  
  


Chakotay didn't move for some minutes, still not completely trusting the android to be deactivated and devoid of life, reactions or any other kind of movement. He saw his captain behave warily too. Then finally she looked in his direction, lifted an eyebrow at him and called Sickbay to come and get her first officer. Without a word she went to the fallen antagonist, knelt down and cradled the android's head. With a firm twist and a pull, she managed to yank it free of its body and was then standing with it in the crook of her arm. A most disconcerting and eerie sight.

Lieutenant Mallennie grinned and said the first words in several minutes after the stunning counter attack.  
"You want his skull for a trophy, Cap?"  
"It'll look nice over the fireplace." Mel smirked back and then added, "Beam up our men, Mallennie. You should be able to spot them on channel 34.2."  
The third officer nodded in confirmation and went to her station immediately. Work had to be done; it was not over yet.

Tugging the pale and black head safely under her arm, Mel Dayton stepped over the decapitated rest of the android and approached her unfortunate first officer.  
"Nice seeing you again, Commander - what's with the hand?"  
"Broken wrist," Chakotay said weakly, incapable of taking his eyes of the bizarre vision of his captain carrying Lore's head, "what... what... weapon WAS that?"  
"You mean the weapon that fell Lore? Why, my secret weapon, evidently." She smiled jovially at him as she stooped to examine his injuries more closely.  
"You have to understand that a lot of things happened after you left the _Chief_, Commander. I got a hunch and acted on it. I somehow felt that we hadn't done enough about shields, you see. And at some point I discovered that Delaan hadn't met the Maggots at the appointed place - that did it. I contacted Jonesy and told him to lie low until further notice. But the connection was broken suddenly and brutally and then I knew with certainty that Lore was able of monitoring our communication."  
"How the heck did you solve that problem?" Chakotay gasped as his captain felt for his broken ribs.  
"We didn't. We constructed an entire com system and fed him with false information. When the time came for beam-out, we had a shuttlecraft send out a fake coordinate signal - right up till the moment Lore transported himself. Then we overrode the programme and brought the son of a bitch here to perform our carefully planned show. Your appearance was the only surprise."  
"I'm sor....??"

Suddenly the bronze man's eyes widened to an incredible extent. His stunned glance was fixed at a point behind his captain and when he spoke, he spoke with something close to panic in his voice.  
"Cap - right behind you - it's there!"  
Dayton turned to face the metal liquid that had slowly slid closer to the commanding couple; its shiny surface shimmered with suspicious intent as it accelerated towards the captain in particular like a merciless tide.

"Myth, stop messing round." She said softly with evident affection in her voice.  
And the liquid then stopped and began to grow... and grow... and slowly take the shape of a shiny figure that glinted beautifully in the bridge illumination, reflecting its surroundings with impressively clear accuracy.  
Slowly comprehension penetrated Chakotay's dim shock-suffering brain. Myth. The shape-shifter. _Of course._  
Shaking all his details and appropriate colours in place, Myth straightened and kneeled to join the captain on the floor at Chakotay's side. He smiled affably and relaxed at his commanding officers.  
"That was kinda fun."  
"Well, you definitely looked as if you were enjoying yourself - not to mention when you scared the living snot out of our poor first officer here." Mel said dryly, patting the object of the conversation carefully. Myth cracked, but then fell serious when his eyes fell on the battered body of Chakotay.  
"He really put you through the meat grinder, didn't he, sir? I almost wish I had tortured him a little more before pulling his plug."

Finally Chakotay started to laugh. A captain carrying round an android head; a gun that was a liquid that was a person. The extraordinary situation was simply too psychedelic and outlandish to be taken seriously. No wonder the special gun hadn't worked. No wonder Lore hadn't been able to shake off the "liquid metal", no wonder .... no wonder everything. Wonder. Wonders. Wonders would never cease.

T'Rees arrived with her inseparable and indispensable medical bag that fit her hip nicely and even becomingly, strapped to a brown, old-fashioned leather belt. She quickly lowered herself to the floor next to the commander and made a quick and efficient sweep with her medical tricorder.  
"Multiple fractures in his left wrist, two rib fractures, several lacerations and facial bruises, four missing teeth, five broken blood vessels in..."

Mel and Myth left T'Rees to her cool Vulcan listing of injuries and gestured at Mallennie for a report, which was delivered almost instantaneously.  
"I've found them all, and they are beaming aboard... now."  
Dayton promptly tapped her combadge, communication free and available again aboard the _Chief_.  
"Transporter room, stand by for our teams."  
"Aye, Cap - we have them... now."  
"Shuttle bay 2. Stand by for auto-returning shuttles."  
"Aye, aye, Cap. They should be in safe and sound in 1.5 hours."  
"Acknowledged. Out."

Her amber eyes attaining a mellow shade and appeasing the sharp glint in them, Mel turned to view the bridge of her trusted ship with a satisfied and heartfelt sigh. Excepting her inability to predict the commander's capture, everything had gone according to plan. At least according to contingency plan D. T'Rees was organising a stretcher to get Chakotay to Sickbay as the transporters were busy bringing her valiant and faithful away-teams in. Lieutenant Rwani was escorting their 'guests' to their 'guest quarters' and maintenance was removing the remains of Lore's body. She momentarily looked down at the half-closed eyes peeking out from the odd, pale head she was cradling in her arms and smiled gently. Hell, he WOULD look good on her mantelpiece in her summer residence in Oregon.  
_Such an efficient crew_, she nodded at the sight of busy and conscientious ensigns, who were crowding the place to make procedures run smoothly. She sighed again, her chest heaving heavily, the picture of a deeply contented woman.

"Mel!" Chakotay's voice hauled her out of her momentary dreamy state.  
"Yeah, First?" she reached him just as the stretcher with him was disappearing into the turbolift.  
"What DID happen to all those Ethnarians? Did you really beam them into space?"  
She grinned impishly, her white healthy fangs flashing in the reduced light.  
"Sure, I did. But I positioned a shuttlecraft at the fake coordinates first. There are now 95 extremists aboard the "Geronimo", probably wondering what the hell all the fuss of 'magnificently big Starfleet starships' is all about."  
Despite his maimed and bleeding mouth, Chakotay laughed out loud in cheerful mirth.  
"Oh, spirits - 95 people aboard a shuttlecraft - I wonder if they take turns to breathe."  
"We'll let them stew a little while yet and then bring them aboard in our roomy brig. Now, you get going, First - I need you safe and sound to help me clearing up this mess." She finished with a gentle smile.

Commander Chakotay closed his eyes in happy bliss and was almost asleep by the time he reached Sickbay.  
  
  
  


*

  
  


Mel entered Sickbay just as the Sigmarian was brought onto the nearest biobed. Even without medical training, it was clear to the captain that the senator was in critical condition. Obviously the alien had entered a somewhat stubborn state of serious shock and the CMO was already on the case with complete and undivided attention.

Dayton felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to greet the squad leader of the Maggots and his NIC with her usual heart-warming approach.  
"You look like shit, Jonesy."  
"Thank you - I love you too. Say, what the hell kept ye'?"  
"Oh, the usual mayhem and fight for survival - care for coffee or tea?"  
"Make that whiskey." The small amicable man grinned.  
"Not before reports are done with - you know the drill, Maggot."  
"Who DID come up with those designations?"  
"What's the pool?"  
"You don't wanna know."  
"Yes, I do - I have a substantial investment in it this time, Jonesy."

Mel had the pleasure of seeing her old friend and lead sergeant widen his dark blue eyes. So she could still surprise him. Good to know.  
"Anyway - what the hell did Lore do to the senator?"  
Jonesy's Aussie shrugged her narrow shoulders, "She is physically uninjured - my guess is psychological torture."  
Mel nodded, "Yeah - he would be good at that."  
Jonesy nodded at the farther biobed, recognising the shape lying on it in restful sleep.  
"What's Chaks doing on that bed?"

"WHERE IS HE, WHERE IS HE??"  
Mel, Jonesy and Jake turned round to face a flustered and red-faced German one-man-army, who knocked aside everything unwise enough to come in her way.  
"Yo, Gyde. I found something you lost. In the biobed over there." The captain informed her, tilting her head in the direction of the first commander's sickbed.  
Jungjohann stormed to the bed, reading the controls in a furiously rate and then collapsed on a nearby table, scant of breath and closing her eyes in deep relief.  
"I daresay that's the last time she has ever lost track of her first officer. Such a sloppy habit." Jake sniggered evilly.  
The awful threesome roared with laughter and consequently got thrown out of Sickbay by a very determined nurse, who tediously lectured them on hospital behaviour in the process.

Dayton made sure of thanking and dismissing all the team members before she contacted the transporter room to have them beam over the 95 rebels from the "Geronimo" to avoid them suffering a collective and massive lung decompression from being squeezed together in a craft designed for 50 people max. She then contacted the Sigmarian government, assuring them that their senator was safe and that they could re-enter and reclaim their Parliament. They did, unfortunately, have to expect a certain mess in some areas of the building.  
The Ethnarian government asked for the rebels to be redirected to the shuttle again and Lore's head on a silver plate.  
"No can do, Prime General. His head is already adorning my quarters, and if you have a problem with that, you'll have to take it up with Starfleet."  
"What will happen to that devil contraption?"  
"According to regulation he will be brought before the court and convicted in accordance with Federation laws."  
"FEDERATION?? But his crime was committed in our jurisdiction..."  
"No, it was committed on Sigmarian soil, so strictly speaking the Sigmarians should have his sorry butt. However, this is not up to me, so until a decision has been reached by all involved parties, he stays with the retrievers of his before-mentioned butt... and head. And that would be the Federation."

Dayton cut the connection short as Ethnarian curses started making her just a tad too knowledgeable of their mother language and began scrolling through the first incoming reports on her screen.  
Engineering had reinstalled all computer codes to normal and re-routed all communication channels to their former digital position. The fake signal booster was shut down and coordinates reprogrammed; Ape had done a remarkably quick and smooth job.  
Sickbay had received its last patient and there was no casualties among the crew or the 97 Ethnarians now aboard the _Chief_. The Sigmarian's condition was reported stable and she was expected to come to within 1.02.35 hours. The security situation was completely under control, and the _Chief_ was now heading for a position in safe distance from both planets until the senator could be returned to her home world.  
  
  
  


*

  
  


Still in Sickbay, Sergeant Jungjohann refused to leave her commander, who was still sleeping peacefully with cooling and healing beams caressing his bruised face.  
T'Rees, though still busy, made time to turn to the obstinate squad leader and remark:  
"If you are not leaving Sickbay, I suggest - no, implore - that you go to the sonic shower. Your smell is, quite frankly, repellent, Sergeant."  
"I'm not taking my eyes of him for even one second, Doc."  
The CMO raised a sarcastic eyebrow.  
"I assure you he WILL recover without your help. His injuries are in no way life threatening."  
"They will be." The stout German woman hissed, "Cuz' I intend to kill him as soon as he wakes up."  
That comment earned her TWO raised eyebrows from the Vulcan.  
  
  
  


*

  
  


_Stardate 8945.4, Captain's log._

_At the meeting convened at 13.15 hrs this afternoon my officer staff and our squad leaders went through the operation together, making sure that all details were laid out and loose ends picked up and tied nicely together. Summa summarum, I hereby state for the record that the FMOPS operation was a completely success counting 12 injured and no casualties among the crew. The Sigmarian hostage was returned to her home planet at 10.45 exactly, and the Sigmarian government has already invited us to a ceremony and party, which we regretfully cannot accept since we now must head back to the nearest starbase as quickly as possible to deliver the perpetrator and instigator of the now diverted crisis._

Mel Dayton stopped temporarily to let her eyes stray to a certain head, looking at her with narrow amber eyes from the shelf right above her writing desk. It was like having a bust of Beethoven, only much, much more entertaining. The remains of the android had been taken to the science section where it was stored in a special pressure controlled chamber to make sure that the functions of the criminal would remain unimpaired as long as he was the _Chief Cochise_'s responsibility. In fact, Starfleet didn't even know that the head had been disconnected from the rest of the body. That action had been carried out solely on Mel's own initiative.

Mel grinned, full teeth and twinkling eyes. If only she could do this with all their adversaries... well, a girl could dream, couldn't she?

The captain of the _Chief_ was jerked back to reality as her door beeped and her first officer asked permission to enter.  
Mel put down her glass of cognac and smiled at the handsome bronze man that looked expectantly at her through the doorframe.  
"What are you waiting for, man - get your butt in here."  
Commander Chakotay stepped in - a little tentative.  
"What's on your mind?"  
"I would like to see it... him... the head."  
Mel gestured at the shelf with a magnanimous motion.  
"Knock yourself out."

Chakotay stiffened. It was almost uncanny the way the head still - somehow - seemed alive. Despite the lack of life, despite the glazed yellow eyes with the beady pupils, despite the dead, half-open mouth, it still looked like it could come to life any minute and smirk that dreaded leer at him. He shivered inadvertently.  
"Sit down." Mel ordered, her own smirk gone switching her eyes to 'serious' mode.  
__Is this 'whipping my first's hiney thoroughly' time?, the commander thought apprehensively.  
"No, I'm not going to kick your well-shaped ass." Mel assured him. Chakotay was shocked into silence for a second. She was still reading his mind like an open book.  
"And why not?" he finally managed to squeeze out, "After all, I went right ahead and got myself caught."

She shrugged and went to the replicator to call up a cognac for her guest. She was out of uniform and her civvies, a simple black dress with lots of room for movement, radiated comfort and safety.  
"We all get caught at some point. Of course, you throwing yourself in front of the group to save it was hardly a smart move... and it did reveal the inevitable fact that you still lack confidence in our teams and their abilities."  
"They would have been dead meat - a platoon of Ethnarians was waiting for us." He suddenly defended himself. She shook her head gently and placed the glass in front of him. He didn't touch it. She ignored his choice of action and went to her chair to sit down again, stirring her own cognac pensively.

"They would have handled the situation - pretty much the same way you did - blocking something, shouting something, taking cover somewhere - doing something, like flattening out the entire enemy platoon."  
"But what if they hadn't??" he almost cried in disbelief at her calm attitude towards a possible annihilation of her group.  
"If they hadn't, they would have been in the same situation that you ended up in." She said shortly, cutting through his bullshit.

He stopped dead.

In a split second he understood her point. Designating himself to noble sacrifice was not his job. His job was to stay alive to supervise his groups and make sure the coordination brought the whole batch home again. Sacrificing himself had prevented him from doing exactly that.  
Mel wriggled an eyebrow at him in appreciation.  
"Ah. It's dawning on you."  
Her first officer nodded slowly.

"Still, I would say you were pretty successful."  
He looked up, his dark chocolate coloured eyes confused and a little vulnerable.  
"What do you mean? How??"

His captain leaned forward, raising her glass in salute. He could see her amber eyes through the glass blending nicely with the amber colour of the alcohol. Such a beautiful and peculiar effect. A little unsettling, disconcerting, powerful. Dangerous. The effect blinked in mesmerising slow-motion.

"You survived." She stated.

He glared at her, disbelieving.  
Finally he laughed, relaxed, leaned forward and grabbing his glass saluted her:

"We survived."

They touched glasses.  
  


**_The End?_**

  


That was IT! Did you like it? Or hate it? **[Let][1]** me know.

   [1]: mailto:hyperhenry@get2net.dk



End file.
